Of Apples and Trees
by The-Morally-Ambiguous-Queen
Summary: Emma Swan was granted the biggest opportunity of her life so far: an acceptance to Columbia, her dream university. When she finds herself without accommodation, the only person to help her out is her detached, insanely successful step-aunt, fashion brand manager Regina Mills.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: **Hello! I'm not an experienced writer (never wrote anything before), so please feel free to inform me of: typos, grammatical mistakes, word use issues, messed up tenses and the like. Thank you in advance! - already have to say kudos to the first person helping me with my choice of words, thanks!  
Italics are flashbacks or inner commentary. Please check the end for trigger warnings for the entire work.

**Edit: **I fixed some things, apparently ffnet ate my spacing, I don't even know how anyone could decipher this story before. Sorry about that!

**Edit no.2.:** edited the end notes, because I can't reply anon reviews

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**I own nothing, just my ideas.**

Mary Margaret Blanchard was humming idly as she parked her bicycle next to their castle-shaped mailbox, making sure her bag filled with groceries stayed strapped down behind the seat. The mailbox was her husband's gift to her, something he put together and painted on his own despite his complete lack of proficiency with any tool whatsoever. Naturally, his ineptness showed on the end result, but it only made Mary Margaret love it more.

She opened the box to collect their mail and decided to sort through it then and there. A good handful of junk mail; the weekly edition of the Daily Mirror, which just made Mary Margaret wonder about the inexplicability of its name for the hundredth time this year alone; an official request of the library, because apparently Emma forgot to return an algebra book that was due two month ago; and finally something that really caught her attention: a very official-looking envelope addressed to Emma Swan, sent by Columbia University in the City of New York.

_So this is it_, she wheezed out a shuddery sigh, trying to keep her excitement at bay, at least until her daughter came home from school, because if she learnt anything about Emma in the last 13 years, it was the fact that she had very little tolerance for a hyperventilating, fussy Mary Margaret.

* * *

Emma Swan shivered when the cool evening breeze swept through her still damp hair, making her ponder about her life choices, more specifically about her decision of leaving swim practice without properly drying her hair, a direct result of placing 'getting home early to eat' higher than 'not dying of pneumonia' on her priority list. Her mother was on an Italian roll these days and that was almost as good as her big cheeseburger freak-out last year, so she really didn't want to miss out on anything.

She adjusted her ratty backpack on her shoulder and hugged her swimming team hoodie closer to her midsection as she made her way through town. Days like these made her grateful that traffic in Storybrooke was virtually non-existent and no motor sounds disturbed her musings. Seeing and hearing how the town gradually lulled down every evening was probably the only thing she really liked about living in St. Storybrooke-upon-Podunk, where the leading news in the local paper next week was most certainly about her imminent criminalisation due to an unreturned algebra book, and a subsequent vendetta between her and the librarian lady, who clearly had no issues about resorting to stalking and verbal harassment to bend Emma to her will.

It wasn't long until she reached the well-kept yard of her family house, which her mother frequently described as quaint, and Emma guessed it kind of was. It was a relatively cosy, stark white two-story home that stood modestly amidst the more imposing properties in the neighbourhood. Storybrooke was a bay-side town situated between Portland and Brunswick, making it convenient for most residents to commute every day, thus it earned the title of a sleeping town.

Sometimes Emma felt that the only people really living in Storybrooke were the true locals like Granny Lucas, whose presence was so deeply ingrained in the shared consciousness of the settling that when she one day decided to take a day off to attend some wedding in Boston everything turned into a glorious clusterfuck in about five seconds. There were also those folks who moved here to get the full on Maine summer experience and then somehow stuck around to check out the less impressive Maine winter, and then all other seasons and now didn't know how to leave the town because they had their brains washed out by eating too much lobster, kind of like Dr. Hopper, who was a brilliant therapist and a nation-wide respected scholar, yet somehow went ahead to put up a practice in a town with about a thousand people. Luckily for Dr. Hopper, Emma guessed that about eighty per cent of them were neurotic enough to need sessions.

Walking up to the horribly tacky fairy tale themed mailbox she crossed her fingers, praying that a divine power would magically conjure up a good dozen admission letters addressed to her, only to find a miserable empty space upon opening it.

* * *

"Mum, I'm home!" Her yell echoed in the narrow foyer, leaving her wondering if she was going to be admonished for her uncivilised ways by her ever-so-prim mother. The foyer lead to the crowded, but homely living room and on the other side her favourite place: the American-style kitchen and the dining room. She wasn't even remotely embarrassed about her gluttonous streak; her mother was a ridiculously good cook and she could still remember years from her childhood when she had very little and very crappy food to eat, so maybe this was her defence mechanism.

"Honey, I'm in the kitchen," Mary Margaret replied and stirred something with a wooden spoon that Emma assumed to be marinara sauce. Marinara usually called for meatballs and spaghetti and that thought alone made Emma do a little happy dance in her head. "How was practice?" her mother asked and looked over her shoulder to have a good look at her daughter.

"Fine. Coach said my backstroke's getting better." Emma dropped her backpack on a chair and went straight to the fridge to get her ceremonial after-school orange juice. She noted that the box had little enough in it that it called for chugging and she did just that, decidedly ignoring her mother's disapproving look.

"That's nice. I hope that helps with the pain," her mother smiled. "You have mail, by the way."

Emma gulped down the remainder of her juice. "Oh God, it isn't about that stupid book, is it?"

"Actually," Mary Margaret started and threw a handful of chopped parsley into the pan. "Now that you mention, Mrs. Pritchard did send me a nice letter. Something about you being a 'delinquent'?"

"Of course," Emma huffed out and threw the carton in the bin. "She is hung up on some maths book I didn't return." She paused to let out a frustrated sigh. "I told her I displaced it and would pay for it, but she insists that I stole it because I'm a felon and a danger to society."

Mary Margaret mustered up a chastising look. It wasn't very effective at all, since she too was a frequent witness to the librarian's usual freak-outs. "What do you mean you displaced it?"

"I know where it is… kind of. It's just not in a returnable state," Emma trailed off vaguely and sniffed around the various pots on the stove, missing the incredulous look of her mother.

"What did you do? Did you burn it?" asked Mary Margaret, her voice suddenly turning sotto voce.

"Yes. At the altar of Diophantus, patron saint of algebra," said Emma, rolling her eyes jokingly at her mother.

"And that was sufficient?" she played along, "In the olden days, when I was your age, we sacrificed goats."

"Mum, you are a riot," Emma deadpanned and walked to the dining table to slump down on a chair. "I dropped it in the ocean," she added eventually and stretched in a very unladylike manner.

"I don't even want to know," Mary Margaret sighed and picked up Emma's envelope from the top of the counter, waving it in the air. "I actually meant this letter."

Emma perked up at that and sat up right. "Is that…?"

Mary Margaret nodded firmly and placed the envelope in her outstretched hand. Emma felt properly dumbfounded as she stared down at the piece of paper that symbolised her future, now resting in her lap. She could feel her mother's eyes on her and her expectant stare.

"Are you going to open it?"

"Don't know. I might as well. What's the worst?" she asked mostly from herself, giving her mother a crooked smile. "If it doesn't turn out well, we can still use it as kindling, right?" She attempted to swallow the lump in her throat with a lame joke, but it did little to her shaking fingers. _Here goes nothing_, she thought as she tore open the envelope and pulled out the papers in one swift motion.

_Pleased to inform you…congratulations on your…regrettably…_

* * *

_Mary Margaret never thought that she would once have to be the source of emotional support to her husband, the never wavering rock in the rising tide. At least not like this. They always shared their feelings and thoughts on all matters, which was one of the reasons their marriage worked so well: they knew how to communicate and they always made an effort to do right by themselves. What she never really expected to happen was to see her husband crumble under the weight of something that he foolishly regarded as his own fault and something that he couldn't change. He used to be so calm and collected all the time that his current state came as a shock. Yet there she was sitting in a hospital chair, letting her husband rest his head on her shoulder as he wept soundlessly._

_They had received the news half an hour ago and ever since then David was inconsolable. She really couldn't fault him. Although she opted to take it better, the realisation that they might never have biological children together came as a devastating blow, and frankly she was waiting for her own shock to pass and go straight into panic or lethargy._

_"David, look at me," she said gently as she touched her husband's tear-soaked cheek. "This is not the end of the world."_

_"How can you say that?" asked David and straightened himself up a bit to look at her. _

_She stroked his face absent-mindedly as she pondered her answer for a bit. "We have other options."_

_"You mean… like a donor?" he regarded her with an indescribable expression on his face. "I guess we could… there must be guys out there who are just as handsome as I am, right?"_

_"Not a chance," replied Mary Margaret and kissed him lightly. "I really don't want a donor, David."_

_There was a touch of calm finality in her tone that gave David a pause. "Why not though?"_

_"It's just…" She brushed his hair with her fingers as she rolled her next words around in her head. "You are my best friend and my love. I guess I only want to have your children, not the offsprings of some anonymous donor, and if that can't be I might as well never give birth. Does this make any sense?"_

_He looked at her with adoration and a tint of sadness as he said, "It does. I just don't want you to limit yourself because I can't give you children."_

_"I'm not. We can always adopt. I think we should adopt."_

* * *

_After spending the whole year and the bigger portion of the last one preparing for adoption and making sure theirs was every social worker's dream family (which it coincidentally was by default), they finally found themselves packing for a weekend trip to Boston to visit an orphanage. If she had to admit it to herself, Mary Margaret did feel a bit irked by the fact that in spite of being a picture perfect couple, it was actually the well timed string-pulling and bribing and who knows what else of her step-mother that brought them closer to adoption. That was Cora's trademark way of handling everything, and for once, Mary Margaret was truly grateful for her assistance — even if it made her feel completely inadequate once again. _

_David was chirpy and upbeat as he put their luggage in the back of their old pick-up truck. It took him quite some time to make peace with his condition, but these days Mary Margaret swore his enthusiasm was almost palpable in the air whenever the topic of creating a family together came up. _He is going to be a great dad, _she thought as she watched him check the tires and the electricity._

_"We are doing this! We are going to be parents!" David's smile almost seemed to split his face as he put turned the ignition and Mary Margaret couldn't help offering her own grin._

_"Yes, we are."_

_It had been more than a month since they first visited the orphanage and they met the little girl, who immediately made their hearts swarm with an intense and undeniable need to protect and nurture. The social worker, Mrs Robinson hadn't lied to them: Emma Swan was indeed a very bright, albeit problematic and closed off child. _

_Mary Margaret could easily recall their first conversation with the woman, who never tried to sell them short._

_"That's Emma, she is a wonderful girl," she said after they inquired about the blonde kid sitting by a window, completely enamoured with a picture book, not deeming them worthy of a single glance, unlike all the other kids who desperately vied for their attention. "I'm not gonna lie to you, though. She is difficult. I see all these couples coming in every day getting all gung-ho about her, because who wouldn't want a pretty, white kid who reads all the time?" she posed a rhetorical question without any disdain in her voice. "And then I tell them the details and they scatter."_

_"What's her story, then?" David asked and leaned closer, not missing the touch of sadness in Mrs Robinson's eyes._

_"Unknown father, teen mother without any support," she shook her head disapprovingly. "Really sad if you ask me and something I get to see every day. She overdosed on heroin a year or so ago and that's how we got Emma." _

_Mary Margaret watched the girl closing her book and go for something else that she immediately recognised and made her smile serenely: The Complete Grimm's Fairy Tales, Pantheon edition. She knew this book front-to-cover; it was her favourite read as a child and she fondly remembered the sizeable number of occasions when she threw a hissy fit because her late mother refused to read another tale before going to bed._

_"I don't know what happened to her before she got here, because she won't talk to anyone. We tried a lot of things, got her therapists but she wouldn't budge." Mrs Robinson probably saw the darkening of their faces. "It isn't physical and not mental either, she is actually quite clever, she already knew how to read when she came in. We weren't sure at first if she understood anything, so we gave her a print of the classic Little Red Riding Hood tale," she said smiling fondly at the memory, "no pictures, just the text, and then asked her to draw the characters in it. She has no knack for drawing whatsoever, but she got it all down perfectly. I even have it on my wall!" she laughed and shook her head, her mood dropping visibly. "The other kids don't like her, she is a loner. Won't participate in any group activities. Whenever we try to integrate her, she acts out." Seeing their questioning gazes, she elaborated, "She is very cunning… see, she knows that if she does bad things, like steal toys from other kids or trip them, she gets a time-out. It is supposed to be a punishment," she frowned lightly, "but she wants the other kids to leave her alone, and if they don't, she chooses the time-out instead of socialising."_

_Mary Margaret looked at David for confirmation and he nodded at her without hesitation. "We understand that taking care of Emma would be a huge responsibility, and maybe, possibly something we aren't yet prepared for," she tried to put her swirling emotions into words, "but we might want to try."_

_David glances at her briefly and took over, "We think it would be good to meet her, see if she takes to us, and then we can go from there and figure out how we could best help her get better."_

_"Whoa. You really want to do this?" Mrs Robinson asked them and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Mary Margaret assumed that this point rarely came in her conversations about Emma Swan. "Not trying to discourage you or anything, but you need to understand that if you choose to adopt Emma and the process goes through, there will be a lot of work cut out for you. She needs extensive therapy, that's for sure."_

_"That's not going to be an issue, we have a developmental psychology specialist in town, Archibald Hopper, you might have heard of him," David interjected, "Plus we have quite the support system in the form of our families."_

_Mary Margaret was the first to approach Emma as they didn't want to make her feel crowded. She had been working as a grade school teacher for 6 years and that gave her plenty of experience with children. David often joked that it was actually Mary Margaret's mother hen personality and Disney princess-like looks that made her a kid favourite, and it was true that they had always flocked around her._

_"Emma, this lady is Mrs Blanchard and she would like to get to know you, if that's okay with you," Mrs Robinson introduced her and Mary Margaret smiled at the little girl earnestly, who stared at her with hard eyes and a raised eyebrow in return. Before Mary Margaret could decide what it meant, Emma adopted a more closed off, emotionless look. The social worker most likely assessed that they were going to be fine and gave them some space._

_"May I sit with you, Emma?" she asked and was only greeted by a half-hearted shrug, which she took as a yes. "This is my favourite book, you know," she gestured at the fairy tale compilation._

_"Are you Snow White?" Emma unexpectedly blurted out, stunning not only Mary Margaret but Mrs Robinson as well. Mary Margaret blinked repeatedly, trying to figure out how to answer that question. She was saved by Emma's spitfire questions. "You look like her. Is he Prince Charming? Are you two married?" she nodded towards David. "Are you here to save me?"_

_"You seem like you can take care of yourself," Mary Margaret answered and hoped that was the right approach._

_"I sure can. Don't need nobody," she mumbled and puffed up her chest, "I'm a big girl you know. I'm like… six," she stated proudly, then slowly pushed her book towards the woman._

_Mary Margaret looked at her questioningly and asked, "Do you want me to read a story?"_

_"If you wanna," Emma shrugged nonchalantly and the older woman grinned lightly at that. This little girl was judging her and sizing her up and she was actually giving her attention, something she hadn't done to anybody in the last year according to Mrs Robinson. This was huge and a bit frightening if Mary Margaret wanted to be honest with herself. _

_"How about Snow White then?"_

* * *

_Now it was mid-April and they were all seated in David's pick-up truck, making their way to Storybrooke, to their home. To Emma's new home. Mary Margaret didn't want to kid herself with thinking that it wasn't again Cora, who made it possible for them to finalise the adoption process so quickly. Her step-mother was the biggest meddler in the world, but thankfully a mostly well-meaning one._

_"I spy with my little eye something… blue!" David exclaimed like the big child he actually was._

_"Oooh that Ford Mondeo th—" Mary Margaret tried to guess but she was interrupted by David's childish 'nope'._

_"Pepsi can?" she tried again, getting an equally enthusiastic head-shake. David always had an inexplicable affinity for long car rides and she often had to force herself to be at least outwardly happy about the prospect of spending 3 hours with him playing games. _

_"The sky?" Emma's deadpan voice could be heard from the direction of the backseat where she spent most of the ride staring out of the window. _

_"Actually yes," David smiled happily and turned on the radio, figuring that both girls were getting rapidly frustrated with him._

_Mary Margaret let herself feel optimistic about their new family, perhaps for the first time since they had applied for the adoption program. It was going to be a long ride, and she didn't mean the current one from Boston to Storybrooke. It was also going to be worth it. She allowed herself a smile._

* * *

Mary Margaret felt worry course through her as she noticed her daughter's completely impassive face. She'd got used to Emma's issues with externalising emotions and apparent reduced emotional range — or so her shrinks used to call it back in the days, but she grew so much in the last few years, became so much more open and trusting compared to her childhood persona that Mary Margaret almost felt slapped by this sudden change.

"I got in," Emma stated and then paused for a moment. "Also, not a full ride."

"Oh honey, that is great," she said as the knots in her throat eased up a bit.

"No, it isn't," Emma sighed, folded up the paper and threw it haphazardly on the table in a quick flurry of anger. "It isn't," she emphasised and ran her right hand through her still damp locks in frustration. "I'm such a fucking loser…"—Mary Margaret blanched at her use of language—"I wasn't accepted into any of the dorm halls. You know what that means."

And Mary Margaret did know what it meant: they could either give up on Emma's biggest dream or find an alternative accommodation, something they obviously couldn't afford on the salary of a grade school teacher and a sheriff of a dwarf town in Maine.

"You are not a loser, honey. I'm very, very proud of you and David will be too, I'm sure," she tried to calm her down and she stepped closer to put a hand on her daughter's stiff shoulder. "This is an amazing thing; you need to keep your chin up, okay?" She ventured in to wrap her up in a tight hug when she felt her shoulders slump under her touch, a sure indicator of Emma's lightening mood. "We'll figure something out between your dad and your grandparents, don't worry about this." That sentence clearly wasn't what Emma wanted to hear, because she visibly stiffened and Mary Margaret decided the best course of action would be to let go at this point.

"Please don't. Gran will go nuts and buy out the entire department of psychology only to sell it on eBay later," said Emma only as a half-joke, since it truly was something Cora could and would do. "I could get a job and bunk with Neal; he mentioned he wants to discover the Big Apple or something like that."

"I hope he was talking about the city," Mary Margaret supplied dryly, making Emma snort in amusement. "What kind of job, anyway? Emma you are nineteen without a degree, you need to realise that the job market isn't exactly waiting for your timely arrival. People with twice as much work experience are unemployed." She didn't want to burst her daughter's already way too small bubble of confidence, but she also understood that an Ivy League school was a very demanding establishment, and while other students successfully juggled a part-time job and university work, she was honestly worried for Emma's emotional and mental stability in a high pressure environment.

"Maybe because they haven't tried pole dancing." Emma gave a playful shrug and offered her mother a cheeky smile, obviously waiting for the hyperventilation or the mild brain aneurysm Mary Margaret got every time something vaguely indecent came up. Emma often mentioned during family gatherings that Mary Margaret was a walking-talking parental control unit to the embarrassment of her mother and the amusement of everyone else. In fact, Mary Margaret's aversion to porn became such a running gag in their group of friends that she regularly received whips and handcuffs for her birthdays. Emma had her theory that her parents probably used everything all the time, only keeping up a pure and innocent imagine for appearances, but she ultimately didn't want to be confirmed of this.

"Don't you even think about something like that," her mother chided her, "With your grace, you'd be better off as a rodeo clown."

"Whoa, Mum, mean much?" Emma laughed loudly then mustered up a wounded puppy face, something she could write a PhD dissertation about. "I feel unloved, you know."

Mary Margaret wasn't particularly impressed with her display. "Yes, that's the case, you figured me out. We only keep you around because we need someone to do chores. Oh, wait, that isn't you, judging by the state of your room, young lady."

Emma pushed her signature black-rimmed glasses up her nose, gazing at Mary Margaret in an exaggeratedly serious and determined manner. "Mother, you got me, I admit to my shortcomings. However, as Dr. Hopper would say, your past mistakes are the foundation of personal growth, so I have no regrets," she mocked.

"Good, then learn from them and tidy your room before your father comes home," Mary Margaret said, leaving no room for argument. She went to the fridge to get the ground meat for the meatballs, before she added, "On Saturday your grandparents are coming over for barbecue, we'll talk about Columbia then."

* * *

**Trigger warnings:**

This will be a slow built/slow burn Swan Queen romance with a helping of Snowing and some Rumbelle.  
The following information will become obvious as the story pans out, but out of caution I'd like to make it clear:  
Though this is primarily a romantic drama, it is also a family drama, focusing on the relationship between the members of the Blanchard-Mills family formed by the marriage of widowers Leopold and Cora 25 years ago. The wedding made toddler Regina and teen Mary Margaret step-sisters, therefore Emma is essentially Regina's step-niece. It is also clearly stated that Emma was adopted. Technically speaking their relationship is not incest, especially because they never spent any substantial amount of time together, leaving them without much of a familial connection. Yes, it will cause drama and no, this issue will not be treated lightly and will not be romanticised.

Still, it may be triggering for some, so please, please don't read the rest of this story if it is for you!

Thank you for reading!

**Edit: **I got a review saying that this comment up here is very anti-adoption. I'm really sorry if that's what comes off, I can assure everyone that I'm pro-adoption for several personal reasons and I get extremely angry about any nature vs. nurture arguments, but still, I'll address this because I have no intention to offend anyone. I did not make Emma an adopted child because I wanted to avoid an incestuous relationship, in fact I first wanted her to be their biological child but then I realised that being a foster kid is an extremely important factor to Emma's personality. Though this is an AU story, I want my Emma Swan to be the least OOC possible. Plus, I wanted to include this element in her characterisation because it is personally important to me and I think OUAT handles the issue of adoption very poorly (just the fact that Emma gets to claim Henry as her own irks me), and I want to 'fix' that.

I said it is 'technically' not incest, because they are in fact not blood-related, wording here is important. A step-aunt/adopted step-niece relationship is morally wrong, no arguments here, I'm not trying to justify anything. That is why I put this exact end note for everyone to read so you could avoid this story if it is triggering for you or you just simply have reservations. I'm sorry if my wording gave the wrong picture, I'm not a native speaker and I often can't express myself perfectly. I hope it is a bit clearer now. Thank you for reading this!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **Welcome to the second chapter of this story! Thank you for all manners of encouragement so far, I hope you'll enjoy this one as well. Criticism of any kind is still welcome. Thank you!

**Edit: **same fixes occurred, hopefully it is more understandable now :)

**I don't own OUAT or any of its character, neither do I make profits via this story.**

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Emma Swan was sitting on the pier that reached far into the water of the bay, listening to the cries of seagulls and the occasional sound of a horn in the distance. She had this little tradition on Saturdays, when she didn't have to worry about going to school or even swim practice, of walking down to the docks and watching the sun rise above the waves. Although the sunrise passed more than two hours ago, she chose to stay here, in the company of her current assigned reading for literature class, _The Bell Jar_, which made her kind of want to scream into a pillow, but in a good way.

"Hey, Columbia! Rumour has it you are the brains of the town." She heard the familiar teasing voice of her best friend and partner in crime, Neal Cassidy. The scruffy looking boy dropped down next to her without much ado and turned to offer her a can of beer. "Pabs?"

"You still drink that crap?" Emma said with palpable disgust in her voice but went ahead to take the can anyway.

"Maybe next time you can buy the beer and I get to complain," Neal grinned at her cheekily and popped his beer open, drawing a long gulp from it.

"Fair enough," she shrugged, "but how do you know about Columbia?"

"Your Mum told me," he said then added, "I've just had breakfast with her."

"Why did you eat breakfast with my Mum?" She gave him a suspicious glance as she opened her can.

"I went to get you, but she told me you came out here at the break of dawn to play with the fish or whatever you do," he gestured in the general direction of the water, "Then I couldn't just let all those pancakes go to waste, you know."

Emma felt righteous indignation at his nonchalant commentary. "Pancakes? She made pancakes? When I'm not home? And you ate them?!" she wheezed out incredulously. Mary Margaret rarely treated them with sweets or desserts, because she honestly believed that such sugary, fattening things had no place in a balanced diet, especially not for growing children (for some reason she regarded Emma as such, even though the only dimension she could grow at this point was of the horizontal variety).

"She wasn't going to make any, I just asked nicely. You could try it sometime," he replied and downed the rest of his beer. "So tell me about this Columbia thing, Hermione."

"Would you stop with the names? I'm not a genius or anything. So I got into a program, but not on a full ride," at his blank expression she elaborated, "That means I have about zero idea where the hell I'm going to live. I'm essentially screwed." She made a face at the taste of the horse piss in her mouth. She honestly couldn't understand why Neal preferred this disaster to real beer. "What's better though, I also got into UMass Amherst, so that's cool."

Neal nodded at her, clearly digesting her words. "Yeah, cool. UMass is not Ivy League, though. Just saying."

A fog horn in the distance demanded their attention. The bay was busy this morning, perhaps busier than Emma remembered it being on any day since the big shrimp lock-down last year. They silently watched some nouveau riche kids barrelling through the waves on their jet-skis. An unusually warm late March meant an early tourist season in Storybrooke.

"I know," Emma said eventually. "Why did you want to talk, anyway?" she asked, making it obvious she wanted a change of topic.

"Oh, yeah, almost forgot." Neal started to rummage around in his backpack and then pulled out a book. She stared in surprise at the exact same edition of the algebra book she managed to drop in the water months ago. "Ta-da!"

"Where did you get this? I've been trying to get a copy ever since Pritchard threatened to decapitate me," she hushed out in a whisper and continued to stare at her friend, not believing her eyes.

"I found it."

"Found it like 'in the possession of another person', but you decided to take it anyway? That kind of 'found it'?" she sighed wryly because she was disappointed she needed to pose that question to her best friend. Her best friend, who also happened to be a juvenile delinquent.

"Em, this is just a book, okay?" he supplied, evidently finding his own reasoning more than sufficient, and opened his arms in defence. "It's not like anyone will miss it. I mean, come on, algebra?"

"It's not about the value. It's about our pact, man."

"Our Pacman?" he laughed out and Emma had to roll her eyes at his idiocy.

"Don't throw me off, you asshat!" She punched him on the shoulder, not strong enough to cause any damage. "We agreed to cut this shit out. I really hurt my parents back then, okay? I don't want to be a constant disappointment."

"Hey, Em, you aren't, okay?" he said softly and raised a hand to squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. "I'm gonna take this back on Monday, alright? I don't want to get you in trouble. I was just afraid Pritchard would castrate you or something."

"I'm a girl."

"Neuter then, whatever." Neal just chuckled at her and directed his gaze at the surface of the water, his eyes hardening imperceptibly. "I haven't received any letter, not yet. Kind of makes me wonder I should've studied in the last four years."

"Four years? You mean to tell me you studied back in middle school?"

"Well, no, but you don't have SATs in fucking middle school."

They both snickered at that. These moments were the ones she enjoyed most about being friends with Neal; she loved sitting with him at the docks and laughing about the constant ebb and flow of mundaneness and absurdity that could describe their life in Storybrooke. Neal understood her free spirit and her longing for the unknown, and she got his back whenever he received news of his absentee father that always shook him up and threw him for a period of depression and self-hate.

"If you don't do everything to make NYC possible, I'm gonna kick you in the ass. That's a promise, Swan," Neal declared seriously. "This is not like deciding between KFC or Burger King, okay?" Emma made a face at the analogy because Storybrooke had neither to offer. "It is like playing major league versus minor league." Storybrooke didn't have a baseball team either. "And I'm going to the city, so you better be there, 'cause I'm not drinking Pabs with anyone else."

"You are?" Emma blinked at him, trying to process his jumbled flow of thought.

"I guess I am. I wanna find my dick of a father."

* * *

Regina Mills sat across her friend and flatmate, Kathryn Midas, at the artsy café she always preferred for brunch (but Regina didn't really care for), and took the lightning speed rain of words coming from the other woman as she was complaining about her fiancé's unexpected job offer.

"I mean Lyon, really? I knew he applied for that Interpol position, but I had no idea he'd have to work at the headquarters. Lyon is in France. _France_," she repeated for emphasis. "I'm not ready to give up everything just because he wants to work in goddamn France. Boston? Sure. Jersey? Huge sacrifice, but I'd survive. France?" she threw her hands up in exasperation. "There's no way in hell I'm jumping across the pond."

"Please, Kat, you _so_ are jumping across that pond. We are talking about Freddie-pooh here, aren't we? Love of your life, owner of a 6 pack, great with children Fred," she said mockingly and took a sip of her coffee, smirking at her friend's glazed-over eyes. _And now she is thinking about the abs._

"His abs sure are lovely," Kathryn sighed wistfully and bit into her cinnamon roll. "But I still feel like I was thrown for a loop here. We are supposed to get married next year and now I don't even know whether I should send out the invitations in French or in English."

"I'm glad you focus on the important details," Regina said and arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her friend.

"Reg, keep your sarcasm at bay and please concentrate on the hardships of my life," Kathryn scowled. "If you didn't realise already, my departure to goddamn _France _affects you too. We rent a flat together with a lease till January. That lease won't magically disappear, so we need to stay calm and think together… about my wedding invitations!" she added in a cheery voice.

"I'm going to strangle you," Regina stated in a chilly voice and finished her coffee with a single sip. "Almost physically hurts to admit, but you are right. We cannot terminate the contract, which is conveniently signed by me, so it seems I have to look for a new live-in girlfriend."

"You make it sound about a hundred times gayer than it was."

"I wasn't aware it was any gay at all."

"Very funny, Reg, you should do stand-up comedy, it would be a blast with all your innuendos," Kathryn teased good-naturedly, "Or maybe, you know, you could get a date instead? Or join a convent, whichever floats your boat."

"Thank you for being so invested in my love life, I don't know what I'll do without your constant reminders of my temporary single status."

"That status is anything but temporary. I swear if it was up to you, you would die single. Regina you are like what, 29—"

"26"

"—26, that is old, you are old, Regina. Love doesn't just appear out of thin air. You need to step out and make love come to you!"

Regina rewarded her friend with a dramatic slow clapping session. "More inspiring words have never been spoken. I especially loved that part when you, a woman turning 30 next month, called me old."

"You are evil. Never bring that up again or I disown you," Kathryn whispered darkly. Regina sneered at that and checked the time on her wristwatch. She had a plane to catch.

_This year is going to be a mess, _she thought, _I wish I knew where to find my footings._

* * *

Noon arrived soon for Emma, who spent most of the morning on the pier hanging with Neal and catching up on some required reading, which was frankly a lot more like explaining _The Bell Jar _to an unenthusiastic Neal. For Neal, on the other hand, it was a nice morning spent on his back looking up at the clouds and barely registering whatever nonsense was coming from Emma.

"Do you want to come over later in the afternoon? We are having a BBQ party in the garden. Dad's making burgers," she offered only to see Neal shake his head.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Your Mum already mentioned it but I have no desire to meet your Gran any time soon. I have a feeling she doesn't like me much."

"She kind of hates you…" Emma trailed off lamely, scratching her head. The animosity between Cora and Neal built its groundwork when he spent all his time teaching Emma how to be a potential juvie-settler back in their freshmen year.

"Too bad, 'cause I heard your aunt is coming too and I remember her being crazy gorgeous," Neal chuckled.

"What," Emma half-asked, half-shouted.

"Don't get all offended, I'm just saying," he rushed out and threw up his hands in defence, "I wouldn't hit on her or anything. Simply admiring her objective hotness. From a distance. Far, far away?" he tried to appease her.

"Not that. She is coming? Regina?"

"I don't know. Do you have other aunts?" he asked, clearly relieved to be off the hook.

"No," she said realising the stupidity of her question.

"I guess that answers it. Your Mum looked worried about it," Neal offered and squinted up at her best friend to gauge her reaction.

"Yeah, I figured. Regina and I…," she paused to gather her thoughts, "are kind of complicated. Last time I saw her I nearly broke my back and she ran all the way to Paris."

"Ouchie."

"Yeah, ouchie," Emma said with finality and started to pack her things, wondering how exactly she was going to get herself ready to face the woman who probably hated her with the combined fire of the nine circles of hell.

* * *

Pulling her wheeled suitcase across the terminal of Portland International Jetport, Regina assessed that the time and place was appropriate to get nervous about her decision to come home for the weekend.

_Congratulations, Regina, freaking out after your plane arrived, that is so you_, she admonished herself in her head. She hadn't been back in Storybrooke in almost three years and that was a conscious choice: she felt anxiety grip her insides every time she thought about facing her step-sister and her husband. _Don't you forget about Emma, dear_, the little voice in her head reminded her.

She knew the only reason she got on that plane was David Nolan, more specifically his phone call a week ago. She liked David, he was a pleasant enough man but saying that the two of them were close was a bit of a stretch. Yet, he called her last Friday and asked her to come to their family gathering, because they were all tired of tip toeing around the giant elephant in the room. He had told her they wanted to resolve whatever issues they had, because ignoring personal problems while she was on the other side of the ocean was one thing and neglecting each other even after she moved back to Manhattan was another. She wasn't too surprised that it was actually David and not anyone else who made the first step; he was naturally amicable and he placed family above everything else, even she knew that. What surprised her more was her own reaction: the Regina she knew, the Regina she was oh-so-comfortable with, and the Regina she also deeply detested would have politely refused the invitation and, after ending the call, proceeded to throw a variety of objects at unsuspecting walls out of sheer frustration. _So what on Earth am I doing here? _

As soon as she reached the parking lot she was roused from her inner musings by the sharp sound of tyres screeching. She saw a black Mercedes-Benz C-Class stop next to her and when the person driving it rolled down the window, she was surprised to see her mother.

"Just Mummy Dearest, not a kidnapper," Cora smiled at her wryly, "Get in the car, Regina, we are going home."

Regina loaded her luggage in the back of the car and did as her mother told. She put on her seatbelt and ventured a questioning glance at Cora. "I wasn't aware you were picking me up. I was going to catch a bus."

"I know, but I wanted to talk," Cora said and maneuvered the car out of the parking lot with the style and ease of someone who had been driving for decades. "Don't give me that look, I won't bite you."

"This time, I assume?" Regina replied offhandedly and waited for her mother to get to the point.

Cora gave no indication that she heard her daughter. "Emma got into Columbia. I presume you didn't hear?"

"I didn't. That is a very prestigious school, good for her," she offered and hoped Cora was merely making small talk and they could soon drop the topic of Emma Swan.

"She didn't get into any of the dormitory halls."

"Too bad," Regina supplied flippantly. _Why are we still talking about this? Does my mother enjoy torturing me? Of course she does, she is my mother._

"Kathryn is moving away to Lyon in May, isn't she?"

"How do you know that?" She snapped her head to the side so quickly she almost gave herself a whiplash.

"Well, she told me of course," Cora said easily as if she just told the most obvious truth in the universe. Regina felt her blood boil; she instinctively knew when her mother was meddling and this time she was meddling with _her_ life.

"Whatever you are trying to pull off, _don't_," she forced her voice to sound as threatening as possible, "I do not appreciate you tampering with my affairs."

"That's nothing new, dear," Cora waved her off. "This is not about you. This is about this whole family, and do excuse me that I want to fix this horrendous mess that I started."

"So you admit to it?" Regina stared at her sceptically and saw the tightening in Cora's neck muscles.

"I never shied away from responsibility." Her mother took her eyes off the road and let her gaze rest on Regina for a second, "I may not have always realised my shortcomings, which were numerous, mind you,"—she turned to look ahead—"but when I did, I stood tall amidst the proverbial shitstorm."

Regina raised her eyebrows at her mother's phrasing as it was so unlike her. "And those experiences led you to join the esteemed ranks of the Care Bears?"

"I wish you took me seriously." Cora sighed quietly and led the car up on the highway panning from Portland to Brunswick.

"Quid pro quo, Mother." Regina allowed herself a smug smile as she revelled in Cora's annoyed expression.

"Maybe when you won't act like a child." They let the momentary silence wash over them and used it as an opportunity to catch their bearings. "You should offer Emma your spare room."

"You are out of your mind," Regina hissed out, "You put the two of us together and we go off like thermite, you know that."

"That is my fault," she said softly, her remorse making its way into her voice. "I got myself so invested in helping Mary and David become a family that I lost sight of my pre-existing one. No wonder you saw each other as rivals."

"If I remember correctly, you have always told me one cannot change the past." Regina suddenly felt deadly tired; these were the type of conversations she didn't like to have, the ones that made her feel as though she had swam for hours in a never-ending sea of emotional turmoil and scorching anger. All that in a matter of ten minutes.

"Maybe that's true," Cora agreed. "Maybe I'm just tired of seeing you this miserable."

"Maybe you are just tired of feeling guilty," she said in a barely audible voice. _Please, defy me and tell me I'm wrong. Prove that you care!_

"Maybe." Regina closed her eyes to reign in any tear threatening to fall at her mother's admission. "Just think about what I said."

"You think that this is my chance," she said blinking rapidly after swallowing the strangling lump in her throat.

"Indeed," her mother nodded and Regina followed the 'Storybrooke, 10 miles' sign with her eyes as they passed it. "Take it or leave it."

* * *

"Mum, I'm home!" Emma yelled out, "And I know about the pancakes, you traitor!"

"Oh, honey, good, we need to talk," Mary Margaret appeared in the foyer in a flurry of movements and cut to the chase, leaving Emma little room to whine about the lack of sugary abominations in her digestive system. Witnessing her daughter's complete absence of moderation when it came to food, Mary Margaret often had nightmares about a looming threat of diabetes in Emma's life.

"I know. Regina," her daughter nodded seriously and Mary Margaret wondered why everyone always knew everything before she did. "You know, Mum, telling Neal anything is like telling me. Letting you know for future reference," she teased and moved to the kitchen with her mother in tow.

"He tells you _everything_?"

"Yeah, why?" asked Emma casually and walked up to the fridge. Mary Margaret knew her daughter was looking for orange juice, but with the upcoming barbecue she would probably need an excavation team to find anything other than meat in there.

"Nothing."

"Mum, what?" Emma looked over her shoulder with a suspicious gleam in her eyes and closed the fridge coming up empty handed.

"I said nothing. Drop it," she shushed her daughter. She certainly hoped that Neal wasn't stupid enough to reveal that she had formed the greatest not-completely-secret syndicate of meddlers in the world with Cora Mills to ensure Emma's bright Ivy League future. David had always told her gossiping would be her downfall one day but this was not the day, she decided. "So, Regina."

"Yup, Regina," Emma parroted, looking uncharacteristically nervous and fidgety.

"I didn't know she was coming either, it is a surprise, that's for sure," she rushed out. "Your Dad told me he invited her."

Emma leaned against the fridge and asked, "Why did she accept?"

"I haven't a clue," Mary Margaret shook her head. "Maybe she wants to make amends?"

This was pure wishful thinking on her part, since it was actually her who craved to make amends with her little sister. Their relationship hadn't been the same since Emma's arrival in the family and Mary Margaret understood that something had broken in Regina on that day. _Or perhaps, _a tiny voice suggested cautiously, _maybe it was you who broke her. _

"Whatever it is, we are going to have a super awkward barbecue," Emma noted dryly.

"Do you think you are going to be fine?" Mary Margaret enquired in her softest voice and Emma grimaced.

"She's the one who hates me. Maybe you should ask her that?"

"I don't think she hates you, honey. If anything, she feels guilty," her mother said quietly.

* * *

_"Get the hell away from my horse!" Emma whipped her head around as she heard a shriek that was unmistakably coming from Regina. She instinctively dropped her hand, ceasing to comb Rocinante's wild mane. Emma knew she shouldn't have approached the horse as it was strictly forbidden by Regina herself, but he looked so lonely and somewhat neglected now that Regina was working on her BA degree in England that she couldn't help herself. _

_She was introduced to horse riding shortly after arriving in Storybrooke because Dr Hopper thought it would be therapeutic to be around animals, and even though she wasn't a naturally talented rider, she loved to spend time in the stables. As a child, she had to share this space with Regina who had never been particularly impressed by her presence, and guarded her horse from her as though she was the carrier of the black plague. Emma knew that her current act betrayed her unspoken agreement with Regina and she blanched visibly at the thought. An angry Regina was a scary sight and she was usually pretty worked-up around Emma._

_"I'm sorry I was just—"_

_"Save it, I don't care," Regina growled out. "If you touch Roc ever again, I'll make you regret it. Understood?"_

_"Why are you such a bitch all the time?!" Emma felt her anger rising way too quickly, effectively clouding her judgement._

_"Excuse me?" the other girl laughed mockingly, obviously waiting for Emma to cower._

_"You heard me! You always act like you are some raging bitch straight from hell," Emma glared at her and she knew her voice rose about an octave. "I really don't get you, Regina."_

_"Is that so? I'm terribly sorry you find me cross," Regina said and gave her a derisive chuckle. "I literally asked only one thing from you ever, _Ms Swan_," she drawled and Emma saw red. She hated when Regina called her like that because she used her surname as a slur. It was her name by birth and her parents opted not to change it, leaving the decision up to her when she got older, and she was ultimately thankful for their consideration. However, when Regina said it, 'Swan' was suddenly a brand and she felt like cattle or even worse, something the cat dragged in. An unworthy stray._

_"Don't call me that," she seethed._

_"You don't get to ask anything of me if you can't comply with one single request," Regina said frighteningly calmly and moved closer to crowd Emma's personal space._

_"I wasn't asking," Emma replied, meeting her challenge head-on. "Besides, why the hell are you so hung up on Roc? He is a horse. It's not like I'm stealing your _boyfriend_," she added in a nauseatingly sweet manner, throwing in a rather vicious blow: Regina's inability to get into a lasting romantic relationship after the death of her first love was a topic no one dared to discuss out of consideration._

_Emma immediately regretted her words and she knew she overstepped her boundaries when she saw all emotion drain from Regina's eyes. "Do you enjoy this?" Regina asked in a feather-soft voice and let her eyes sweep over Emma's face in abject wonder._

_"What—"_

_"Do you enjoy taking everything from me?" Regina cut her off. "You took my sister, you took my mother, and you took my fucking life." Regina spat out disgustedly. "At least you could have left me my horse, but no, you had to take everything."_

_"I didn't do any of those things!"_

_Regina just smiled at her sadly and Emma felt her heart shatter into tiny pieces. Did she really do all these things unknowingly? Did that smile mean Regina pitied her for not understanding?_

_"At least do me one favour, Ms Swan," Regina sighed out, "Don't ride with Rocinante. He won't ever take to you."_

_Maybe Regina shouldn't have called her that name again, maybe Emma shouldn't have been so clinically stubborn, maybe she shouldn't have wanted to prove Regina wrong, but when she felt the light breeze under her shirt as she fell from Rocinante's back, in that split second before the impact she knew it was all the same._

_When Regina heard Rocinante's loud neigh she instinctively knew Emma was in trouble. She didn't even think before she started running towards the general direction of the stable. The wet grass flew in every direction as it got caught in the sole of her running boots. She found Rocinante nudging a terrifyingly motionless Emma with his muzzle._

_"Oh my god." Regina's breath caught in her throat as she dropped herself down next to a very conscious and very unmoving Emma Swan. "Emma, are you okay?"_

_"Not…really…,"Emma groaned, "Bit numb?"_

_That was the moment Regina called for an ambulance on her cell._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: **Hello! Thank you for reading the next chapter of my story, I hope you'll like it!

**Trigger warnings:** mild swearing, graphic description of a panic attack

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own anything.

* * *

Emma's conversation with her mother was cut short when they heard the engine of David's death-trap pick-up truck as it rolled onto the driveway. Emma was aware that her mother tried to get rid of that car several times in the last five or so years but David insisted on keeping it, reciting lack of funds and nostalgic emotional attachments as his main reasons. If Emma remembered correctly, and she probably did because David loved to tell this story, it was the exact truck that ignited the romance between her parents. David was originally from Kentucky and upon graduating from high school he chose to go on a summer-long road trip across the eastern states with his best friends, only to find himself trying to hitchhike or at least flag someone down for roadside assistance when his truck decided to die on him somewhere between Portland and Brunswick. From that plot point onward the story seemed to vary depending on David's level of inebriation, but one thing was always consistent: the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world found him in the middle of nowhere and saved him from his untimely death — the last part was added for dramatic tension.

"Hello, gorgeous legally bound partner in marriage," he greeted his wife and kissed her chastely, trying not to make their daughter uncomfortable. "And if that isn't my only heir, looking all excited about her lawn mowing duties!"

"Ugh, must I?" Emma whined miserably but she was only gifted with a chuckle from her father.

"I'm afraid yes. The grass is so high that I could snap dramatic selfies and people would think I'm at the Serengeti," he said and grabbed a tall glass from the counter to pour himself some water.

"Maybe we should just tell everyone that the BBQ is Lion King themed," Emma offered half-heartedly and Mary Margaret snorted at that idea.

"Please don't. Remember when you were ten and your Dad dressed up as Scar for Halloween?" she asked, "Still gives me nightmares."

"What? I thought you said I was hot?" David snapped his head up dramatically.

"Yes, honey, you were so hot you burnt my retinas," Mary Margaret drawled and Emma figured their intermezzo was the perfect opportunity to get some lunch in the form of a bowl of Cheerios before her father made her cut the grass or her mother started quoting dissertations on the direct link between Cheerios and diabetes.

"I'm going to ignore you," David waved her off, "Because we have more important things to talk about. I propose a Family High Council meeting," he said imperiously.

The establishment of the Family High Council was originally David's idea, who had a knack for coming up with ridiculously sounding but ultimately very effective ways to engage Emma. Dr Hopper always reminded them that familial integration and an understanding of the basic rules of their shared life developed organically if there was constant, age-appropriate inclusion in their discussions concerning their family life. Why he needed to use so many words, no one really knew. Nevertheless, the Family High Council was created to be a forum to debate family matters and to clash differing opinions (and not to get high, no matter how much Neal wanted that to be the case), where decisions could only be made via consensus and a failure to keep one's word was met with serious punishment. Emma recalled that one time when they voted on visiting David's parents in Louisville for a long weekend but her dad forgot about some paperwork he needed to finish for a quarterly closing at the Sheriff's Office, which made it impossible for them to leave for Kentucky in time. Her father was on dish washing duty for an entire month after that. Family High Council was hardcore like that.

* * *

_"Respected Family High Council," Emma started, a shaky smile gracing her lips. Her nervousness was entirely warranted: she was only 17, freshly recovered from a back injury with the help of long months of physical therapy, a former orphan (technicalities aside, she liked to think she wasn't one anymore) and juvenile delinquent, and now soon to be out queer teenager and that was maybe a bit more action in her life than she would've liked. She pulled a flipchart next to her and looked at her parents' expectant but simultaneously calming gazes, as they waited for her to continue. "I have a personal issue, or more like realisation, I guess," she mumbled, "that affects our family, so I put together a presentation for you. Hope you'll like." Her parents just smiled at that and David placed his arms around her wife's shoulder to pull her in a half-hug._

_Emma wasn't really all that great with words, so she just turned the first page of the flipchart to reveal an A2 sized, somewhat terrifying close-up of Ellen DeGeneres' smiling face. The slightly taken aback look of her parents made Emma doubt that her direct approach was the best, but she was on a roll here and that meant no stopping. She steeled herself and continued, "As you know, Ellen is a lesbian." She saw that her mother tried to interject but she was nudged to silence by David, so she decided to venture further, "That is pretty simple, right? However, sexuality is fluid and also really confusing sometimes."_

_She turned the page to reveal a montage. "Some folks are straight, some are gay, some are bisexual," she offered and pointed at a picture of Evan Rachel Wood for illustration. "I'm not going to talk about the one with the pots and pans on it, that was Neal and he is an idiot." She rolled her eyes at his best friend, who insisted that she needed to include lame jokes to break the ice. "The point is: there are many labels, but…" she trailed off, "I'm not yet sure about mine. I don't know where I stand. All I know is," she inhaled and braced herself for who knows what, then declared, "I'm about a hundred per cent sure that I'm really, really not-straight."_

_She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened only one to gauge her parents reaction. They looked at her with something that Emma could only really describe as teary-eyed adoration of two parents who have just witnessed the very first successful steps of their daughter. She took that as a fairly good sign, so she continued with her presentation, "I'm telling you all this because I want you to know me"—they smiled at her—"and also because there might be a day when I bring a girl home to introduce to you, or I might move in with one or, hell, " she laughed at the absurdity of the situation, "I might even marry a woman and when that happens, " she paused, frowning slightly at her own choice of words, " or if that happens, I don't want Mum to get a heart attack."_

_"Oh, honey," her mother cried out and she clearly couldn't contain herself anymore, because Emma only saw a blurred mess of a high velocity Mary Margaret as she threw herself at her daughter to hug the living daylights out of her. "We are so proud of you," she choked out, "You are so brave."_

_"So you don't… hate me or something?" Emma asked in a small voice. She knew that her insecurities were unfounded when it came to Mary Margaret and David, but she couldn't shake feeling of being unwanted and never-quite-enough that ingrained itself deep inside her mind._

_"Never," David replied confidently and turned their mother-daughter hug into a sappy group-hug. "We love you more than anything, okay?"_

_"Yeah, me too," she sighed into the shoulders of her parents and she felt like she truly belonged right there and right with them in that very moment. Family High Council was hardcore like that._

* * *

"I'll get the laptop!" Mary Margaret scurried away, leaving no doubt in anyone that she was desperate to have council time.

"Alright, everything's set up?" David asked as he saw Mary Margaret running back with the computer, eager to take notes. "Can we start?"

"Bring it on!" his wife encouraged, determination lacing her voice.

"Mhmp, shur," Emma added with Cheerios in her mouth and quickly swallowed her spoonful at her mother's scowl.

"Good. I open the Family High Council meeting of today's date, which is uh—"

"The 29th of March, 2014," Mary Margaret interjected helpfully.

"—thanks, sweetheart," he smiled at her, "Let's start with our points of agenda in order of importance. Number 1," he counted off on his fingers dramatically and waited for Mary Margaret to start typing, "I smelt pancakes when I entered the house; who made them and why didn't they leave any for me?" Emma mouthed 'thank you' to him, nodding fervently.

"_That_ is the most important point on our agenda?" Mary Margaret's eyebrows rose in disapproval.

"I propose we discuss Number 2, also known as 'Regina is coming to our house and everybody is freaking out' at first," Emma offered, "We can always revisit the Big Pancake Treachery later." It was Mary Margaret's turn to mouth an exaggerated 'thank you'.

"Fine, fine," he chuckled lightly and then he adopted a more serious demeanour. "As you know, I invited Regina and I'm not going to defend that decision, because I feel like I shouldn't have to." Mary Margaret and Emma gave him simultaneous nods of agreement. "I wanted to do this meeting earlier but her arrival surprised me too, because her answer was somewhat noncommittal when I called her and," he shrugged," you know, she is _Regina_, who knows what she'll do?" The girls nodded yet again. "Regardless, she is coming, so we need to lay down some ground rules," he said and placed his hands palm down on the kitchen table for support. "The most important thing to remember is that she decided to come, no matter how much bad blood we have between us. I think that means that she is reaching out to us"—Mary Margaret allowed herself a small smile at that—"and if we don't take the offered hand then we are complete…" he blanched at his wife's warning glance, "Poopyfaces…?"

Emma burst out laughing at that, spewing half-chewed Cheerios all across the surface of the table. "Poopyfaces? Jesus Christ, Dad…" That was something even worse to say because Mary Margaret looked properly scandalised at this point.

"Enough already," Mary Margaret scolded them. "I completely agree with David, though. I think we need to show her that she is welcome here and act as normally as possible."

"So…," Emma started, "How should we do that in practice? Let's ignore everything and sing Kumbaya? Regina will love that," she snorted derisively at her own comment.

"Emma, either be constructive about this or get on with your chores because the lawn won't mow itself," David dismissed her in an uncharacteristically serious manner.

"Preach!" Mary Margaret said emphatically and disregarded their equally odd looks. "The good thing about outdoorsy gatherings is that you need to work especially hard to make a scene, because there are never more than two people listening to you," she added, nodding wisely. Emma had to admit that Mary Margaret was the biggest local social butterfly, so she readily accepted her artisanship in so-called 'outdoorsy gatherings'. "Therefore, this is the perfect opportunity to gravitate the events without any direct confrontation and still be together as a family," she flashed a toothy smile, "I will try to talk to Regina in private to figure out where we stand."

"Okay, so in essence, this was probably the most inconclusive Family High Council meeting so far, "Emma said and moved to stand up from the table, "because what do we have, really? We'll wing it? Emma, play nice?" she shook her head in exasperation. "I'm gonna go do my chores."

She stalked up to her room to change into something she wouldn't mind getting all dirty and sweaty. As she pulled on a tank top and self-made denim shorts that looked so ratty that Emma was half-expecting a prayer circle to appear and take full responsibility for them still being in one piece, she grumbled angrily under her breath about her parents' complete inability to be assertive. Whenever their loved ones were threatened, even if the threat came in the form of a grade school bully or a mean cashier, they were fierce warriors of virtue, but if they had to confront a loved one they immediately turned into indecisive pushovers, overtly preoccupied by making sure no one's feelings got hurt. Emma understood that sometimes those feelings were supposed to get hurt to give way to other kind of feelings, better ones; at least that's how she tried to explain it to Dr Hopper during one of their first sessions. She figured that her mother treated Regina as if she were both a delicate flower and an untamed beast of the wild, something that gets trampled or tramples you if you don't step lightly. Emma thought that was a load of bull. She had a hunch (and she usually believed those) that Regina wanted someone to push her buttons, because her nightmare-inducing inner world could only free itself if her challenger wasn't scared to meet it head-on.

Emma smiled bitterly and ran down all the way to the backyard to mow that damned lawn.

* * *

Regina stared impassively at the white mansion standing tall on Mifflin Street. Her childhood home was nothing if not impressive and imperious, but Regina would have preferred it to be homely and welcoming, or just simply a source of good memories and a healthy dose of nostalgia. Yet it was nothing of the sort and it only made her insides churn with unease.

Her mother turned the engine off and looked at Regina to take in her features; her daughter instinctively crossed her arms to defend herself against her scrutinising gaze. They sat like that for a full minute, neither woman saying anything. Cora broke the silence as she said, "I hope you brought less fancy clothes; this is a barbecue party, not a standing reception." Regina made a face in annoyance. _Just when I thought you would say something meaningful._

"Thank you for your well-placed concern but I have it covered," she responded coolly, "I'll change in my room. That is, if I still have one."

Cora did not rise to the bait and stepped out of the car instead to greet her husband, Leo, who was trying to install a water sprinkler, looking rather casual in his khakis and polo shirt. Regina watched from the car as her mother and step-father exchanged a short hug and Leo kissed Cora on the forehead. _Not on the mouth? Tut-tut, trouble in paradise, _she noted, not being able to pinpoint whether she was happy, sad or just indifferent about her mother's obvious struggles in her marriage. Realising this wasn't the time and place to analyse her emotions, she finally exited the Benz. She walked around to the back of the car and took out her luggage swiftly, trying to calculate just how much alone time she could afford before she had to make her way to Mary Margaret's place on the other side of the town.

"Welcome home, Regina!" Leo walked up to her and pulled her into a soft hug. Regina wondered if he could notice the tensing of her shoulders and twitching of her forearms, but even if he did, he kept it to himself. "How was your flight?"

"Uneventful," Regina replied evenly, "How's mayoring?"

"Uneventful," he chuckled and Regina wished he would shut up at once but her luck was clearly running out because he went on, "Just how I prefer. You know how Storybrooke is: sleepy and boring." _Suits you just fine, _she thought. "Same old, same old. Have you heard about the shrimp fishing ban?"

"Can't say I have." She pursed her lips in irritation. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to take a shower before the party," she brushed him off and sauntered away. It wasn't as though she hated Leopold; she felt more of an aversion to him and she liked to keep her distance from his air of false amicability.

* * *

Regina slowly but steadily slipped into an anxiety attack as she let her eyes sweep over every surface of her old room, a place she hadn't visited in a good three years and one she stopped calling her own place when she was merely fourteen. Her eyes zeroed in on the small framed picture sitting on her nightstand, covered in the lightest sheen of dust that indicated a less-than-frequent presence of the cleaning lady, and reached over to get a better look.

The photograph was taken when she was thirteen, not old enough to be touched by the full force of puberty but already an awkward sight. The pictured portrayed the entire Blanchard-Mills clan, from an uncomfortable looking Regina stuck standing between Cora and Leopold to a grimacing Emma Swan showing off her missing front teeth. She dropped down on her king-sized bad, gripping the frame so firmly that her fingertips turned white.

_Not this again, not now!_

She absolutely detested feeling like this. As she had learnt long ago, the only thing that could throw her off and damage her three-foot thick shield of control and detachment was the thought of her family. Or lack thereof. Bile rose up her throat as she tried to push back that unmistakeable sense of fear.

_You have no reason to fear. It is merely a garden party. You'll eat fatty food and drink bad wine and David will tell horrible jokes and Emma will laugh dumbly and MM will get emotional over dead animals and that's all. Don't fear._

But she ultimately did, so she threw the picture at the wall with all her might. She was glad that the familiar tinkling of broken glass shook her senses strong enough that she forgot about her fear for a moment, granting her an opportunity to regain her bearings. She rolled over on her bed and looked for her cell phone in a scurry of movements. _Controlled breathing, _she reminded herself as she scrolled through her call history.

"Regina," the well-known voice answered her call after a few rings and Regina breathed a sigh of short-lived relief, "Are you alright?" the other person asked calmly. Regina briefly registered that she called her friend on an actual phone instead of logging on to Skype, which was probably going to cost a ton of money for the company. _A nervous breakdown of their star employee would cost more, though._

"Tink…No…" she choked out, "Having a… a—"

"Remember to breathe. Five seconds in, five seconds out, okay?" came the answer. "Do you want me to talk you through?"

"Please," Regina said, desperation clouding her voice. _Five seconds in, five seconds out._

"Hey, you are doing great," Tina encouraged her and then asked, "Where are you now?"

"My old room," she replied, figuring that sticking to shorter sentences was probably for the best. "Lying on my bed."

"That's comfortable. Good," her best friend supplied. "Do you have a pillow at hand?"

Regina hummed her agreement, grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hugged it close to her body, squeezing it tightly. "Got it."

"Great, now imagine that's me."

"What?" Regina asked in an incredulous and barely audible voice.

"I can't hug you because you are there and I'm all the way back here," Tina elaborated, "But I would, if I could. So that pillow is me."

Normally, that would have been the point where she called Tink a gigantic dork or a cornball, but right now all Regina could do was to hug that pillow like it was her lifebelt. _Five seconds in, five seconds out._

"Am I soft?"

"I don't know. How is that cardio coming along?" she deadpanned and felt the grip of anxiety loosen a bit, but still lingering close to the surface of her consciousness.

"Finally an insult! Good job, keep this up and it'll be over in a blink," she laughed, "Believe me."

"I do." And she really did. Christina Bell Psy.D., more commonly known as Tina Bell or simply 'Tink' had been her best friend, mentor, mother-sister figure and occasional therapist for three years, never once letting Regina down or making her feel unworthy of their relationship.

"Would you like to tell me what brought this on?" she questioned gently and Regina heard a couch squeak in the background, under Tink's weight no doubt. Her friend always told her that lying down helped her focus and clear her thoughts, and she enjoyed her own therapy sessions a whole lot more if she too was allowed to get on a couch, not just her patients. Regina recalled Tink telling her how she had almost got herself expelled from university once, because the dean thought she was 'undisciplined, eccentric and inadequate'. Turns out, that comment was all she needed to propel herself forward in the right direction.

"Yes, I'd like that," Regina confirmed and closed her eyes, breathing in and out for a couple of seconds. "I think I'm better," she reassured her friend and went on, "I told you I was coming home for the weekend."

"Yes, and I said you don't have to do anything you are not ready for," Tink replied and Regina ran her free hand through her locks, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm already here," she reminded the other woman.

"So? You still don't have to. We have covered this"—Regina rolled her eyes and mouthed, _You don't owe anyone anything—_"You don't owe—"

"Anyone anything, I know, I know," she interrupted her friend. "Put myself first and think of my health, I know this, Tink. We _have_ covered it."

Regina could almost see Tink's grin at that; she was probably the only person who never minded her constant jibes and undulating moods. "Good, then try to stick to it," her friend said brightly. "Now tell me what happened and we'll talk it out!"

And Regina did, letting go of her panic with every uttered word.


	4. Chapter 4

**Trigger warnings: **mild swearing, domestic abuse of the non-physical kind

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters or the show, sadly.

* * *

Regina stayed seated in the back of the car while her mother and step-father exited the black Benz. At her mother's questioning gaze she rolled down the window and told her, "I have to make a call, I'll be quick."

Cora raised her eyebrows knowingly but instead of commenting on it, she just dropped the keys in Regina's outstretched hand and then turned to walk the few steps leading up to the front door of the Blanchard-Nolan residence with her husband in tow. Regina watched them ring the doorbell and being pulled into hugs by an enthusiastic Mary Margaret and a slightly more reserved David. She swore she could see worry wash over her step-sister's face as she glanced over Cora's shoulder to take a peek at the car. Whatever Mary Margaret asked, Cora waved her off and everyone went back to the foyer, Regina presumed.

She got out of the car deliberately slowly and locked it with the key Cora provided. She took a couple of deep breaths and leant against the side of the Benz to reign in her spinning thoughts.

_I'm Regina Mills and I'm always in control. I own my body and my mind. No one shall see me weak. I'm in control. I own my body and my mind. My mind, my body, _she recited her litany. _I'm Regina fucking Mills._

* * *

_"Enough!" Henry Mills bellowed like a raging animal and all air left Cora's lungs in a sharp exhalation of breath. She wasn't used to being yelled at by anybody, least of all her usually mellow husband. "I've had enough of you trying to control my life! God damn it, Cora, I can't even piss myself without your consent! You are my wife, not my mother!"_

_"Are you sure? Because you act like a petulant child!" Cora spat back, having shaken off her initial surprise at her husband's sudden discovery of a backbone. _

_"And you act like a drill sergeant!" Henry jutted his index finger sharply into her breastbone, an unexpected move and invasion of her space that drove Cora to back away from him quickly. Cora felt both fury and dread rise up from her belly right to her chest as her back hit the wall behind her._

_"Don't you dare touch me," she growled in a deep voice, "Don't you fucking touch me, Henry Mills, or I swear to—"_

_"Don't be absurd, Cora! I'd never hurt you," he told her and took a couple of steps to distance himself from his wife, clearly feeling unease at his own actions. Cora had to wonder just how true that statement was; after all, she really couldn't recognise this angry mess of a person in front of her. "I just can't do this anymore. I feel like I'm constantly backed into a corner and all I can do is defend myself." Cora would've laughed at the irony of the situation, but this time she could only watch in disbelief as her husband buried his face in his hands and let out a pathetic whine. "I'm almost forty and I never get to do anything by myself," he sighed into his palms. "Everyone makes decisions but me! I feel useless!"_

_Cora had to bite her lips to prevent herself from confirming his uselessness, because she understood the gravity of the situation left no room for petty revenge. Whatever early mid-life crisis Henry was having, she wasn't going to let it ruin the life she so painstakingly built in the last five years. She never had any delusions about her chances in life: as the daughter of factory and construction workers she needed extreme luck to get away from her blue collar roots. In her case, 'extreme luck' came in the form of Henry Mills, heir and freshly appointed CEO of Mills Works, one of the bigger shipbuilding companies in Maine. _

_Sweet, dependable and complete pushover Henry Mills, who knew very little about managing a company but knew a lot about Cora's many skills, because he trusted his streetwise and cunning wife to be his consultant. As it turned out, a former waitress who had every trick up her sleeve to push people into giving her sizeable tips was a brutal and deadly social butterfly in the circles of great money: she knew everything about everyone, competitors and allies alike and she was unafraid to use her extensive network of brownnosers to get what she wanted. The two of them together turned Mills Works from a mediocre company into a power player and she wasn't going to let all that go to waste just because Henry thought she violated his freedom of choice. Especially not now, when she had more than one person to consider._

_Cora blinked her eyes a couple of times to will a few tears out of them as she said, "Baby, don't do this. I'm sorry, I had no idea you felt this way," she choked out and went on, "If I did, I'd never… I'm sorry. Please, don't leave me," she asked in a tiny voice and moved closer to her husband who was now slumped on a chair, his face radiating despair. "You know I love you."_

_"No, I don't, Cora. You don't treat the people you love like you treat me. So no, I don't know that," Henry responded and looked up to his wife standing over him. "I think I need some time away from you."_

_"Are you leaving me? You can't," Cora told him, her voice dropping an octave lower and coming out as a half-whisper. "You can't, Henry."_

_"I'm not divorcing you," Henry made it clear with a serious expression coming to halt on his face. "I just need some time."_

_Cora let her husband pack a few days' clothing and leave without sparing her another word, and she wondered why she hadn't told him about her test to manipulate him into staying. She looked pensively at her belly, yet to show any sign of pregnancy, and said, "He'll come around, don't worry. You'll have a Mum and a Dad and you'll be loved, okay?" she smiled serenely, "I'll make sure of it."_

* * *

"Emma, come down, your grandparents arrived!" Mary Margaret yelled upon hearing the doorbell. Emma jumped off her bed where she had been lying for the last half an hour, and plunged her hand into her wardrobe, fishing out the first piece of clothing she could find. She threw on the blue V-neck and jeans at record speed. She really wished she hadn't insisted on putting off her chores until the end of time, because now she was sluggish and a bit achy and she was supposed to be anything but that.

She ran down the stairs and pulled her grandmother into a bear hug so quickly it almost made her fall over.

"I missed you, Gran," she grinned and felt Cora pull away and grumble, "Don't call me that, I'm not that old."

"Sorry, _Cora_. What's up? Have you taken over the world?" she asked affectionately and saw Cora smile slyly.

"Not yet, but I'm working on it. I need a good plan," her grandmother replied and softly brushed Emma's locks with her right hand. "Congratulations on your acceptance, dear."

Emma groaned at that because she was getting tired of being the centre of attention of the entire family and also because Cora wasn't supposed to know of it yet.

"Did Mum tell you? No offence, I just thought we'd talk about it together," she sighed out.

"Your mother is not good with secrets, but don't be harsh on her this time," Cora offered and petted her granddaughter on the face lightly. Emma grimaced childishly at the move. "She just wants you to be happy, that's all."

"Wait a minute here…" Emma squinted at her in suspicion. "Are you two conspiring? You so are! Jesus," she slapped herself on the forehead. "I knew she was being fishy!"

"Calm down, we aren't conspiring," she waved her off and at her granddaughter's disbelieving look she elaborated, "Not in the sense you think, so if you want to be angry with anyone, I'm your person," Cora tried to appease her without much success. "We are going to talk this through together later."

"We better! You know I don't like it when you do stuff behind my back," Emma huffed out, "You are both horrible, incorrigible meddlers," she declared but this time with a joking edge.

"Emma, honey! Can you get us some glasses from the kitchen?" Her mother's voice could be heard and she nodded affirmatively, leaving her grandmother and other family members in the freshly neat and proper garden. She was walking through the foyer when she heard the knock on the door.

"Sorry, I'm late," the woman standing on the other side of the doorstep said softly, a wry half-smile reaching her lips, and Emma did a double take. This calm and rather mature-looking Regina wasn't like the one she conjured up in her mind ever so often. The light yellow sundress, the summer blazer thrown over one shoulder and the sunglasses perched atop perfectly styled hair: all those things made Emma feel inadequate, unease settling in her stomach like a punch in the gut. She quickly snapped her mouth shut when she realised she was staring slack-jawed and forced a more casual, laid back demeanour on herself.

"Fashionably," Emma told her simply and stepped aside to let Regina in, "Welcome to our humble abode."

* * *

_"I understand. I…I'll be over soon," Cora said, stumbling over her words in an atypical fashion, then dropped the phone and watched it bounce back on its chord and bump into the side of her table. "This is not happening. This is not happening," she mumbled and took in a large gulp of air to push back the bile in her throat. She instinctively put her hand on her stomach as her baby chose that moment to kick her hard._

_The ride to the hospital was short but seemed to last for a century and Cora got increasingly agitated by every time her daughter moved inside her belly. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up," she choked out and rubbed her tears out of her eyes with a trembling hand._

_Cora barely registered the nurse approaching her, blabbering something about only allowing family members to visit a patient. "I'm his wife," she spat out, baring her teeth, "and you are taking me to him!"_

* * *

"Cute," Regina quipped back, scanning her eyes over the younger woman's form, taking in the shoulders wider than she remembered, with loose curls falling over them, a far cry from the unruly bob of hair she sported the last time Regina saw her. At that thought images of a paralysed Emma tried to barge into her consciousness but she reigned them in. "I brought wine," she told her eventually and lifted the white net-bag in her right hand to present the several bottles of red wine, and then stepped inside the house, stealing a glimpse of Emma while she did so.

"Cool, thanks," Emma offered lamely, looking somewhat nonplussed at the anticlimactic turn of events. Regina couldn't fault her; she herself didn't know what she expected to happen when she showed up after three years of absence, and this very fact made her heart beat so fast she was glad it didn't jump right out of her ribcage.

"Are the others in the…" Regina trailed off after stopping only two steps into the foyer and glanced back at the other woman over her shoulder.

"Yep, in the backyard," Emma nodded and waited for Regina to make a move, but she only stood there, looking as though she had just jumped out of a Vogue editorial, staring at a miserably underdressed Emma Swan. "Would you like me to take your—"

"Yes. Thank you." She handed Emma her net-bag and rewarded her with a smile that came off as a grimace.

"This is going to get awkward, isn't it?" Emma responded with a similar crooked grin of her own and slapped the front door shut.

The corners of Regina's mouth turned up imperceptibly as she nodded her agreement. "You can count on it, Miss…" she said and paused for a moment to revel in the darkening of the features of her step-niece, "Emma," she finished and turned to march straight ahead, with a particularly dumbfounded Emma Swan trailing after her.

* * *

_Cora Mills stood clad in black from head to toe, barely listening to the pastor droning on about the great life of Henry Reginald Mills, filled with joy and love, and also about a transition to some everlasting next life. She wanted to kick and scream and lose control. She cared very little about the next life when she needed her husband in this one, right now. _

_"Cora," a male voice addressed her and she glanced up, only now noticing that the pastor had finished the funeral service some time ago, leaving her standing next to her husband's grave._

_"You came," she told him, her voice raspy from crying and a lack of meaningful conversations in the last three days. She didn't protest when she got pulled into a tight hug against the chest of Leo Blanchard, best friend of her late husband and lawyer of Mills Works._

_"I promised I would," Leo said and let her go, giving Cora a chance to take in his hardened features and furrowed eyebrows. "How are you holding up?"_

_"I'm fine, considering..." she gestured at the grave and left the sentence open. "I think I've hardly had enough time to panic."_

_"I understand that," he nodded and Cora figured he really did; his wife, Eva, passed away barely four years ago due to breast cancer recognised way too late, and the fight with cancer spanning over two years and the aftershock of her untimely death took a huge toll on the entire Blanchard family. "I'm not here for legal matters, you know. When Eva... when Eva left us, you two were our greatest help," Leo said after tripping over his own words. "I never thought I'd have to return the favour one day, I never... Not like this, no," he shook his head miserably and went on, "but I want you to know we are here for you. I promised Henry I'd take care of you if anything happened to him and I keep my word."_

_"Thank you, Leo, I appreciate it." She turned with finality and the two of them started to make their way to their cars parking outside the cemetery. "We were going to get a divorce." Cora didn't even know why she wanted to add that part, perhaps she needed an outlet and Leo was always enthusiastic to hear her talk about any topic whatsoever._

_"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware it got that bad."_

_"I don't exactly know how bad it got, but I would assume your husband not coming home for five consecutive months predicts a divorce in the near future," she let out a bitter laugh and missed the strange look crossing Leo's face._

_"You know, you shouldn't go back to that place, especially not in your condition—"_

_"It is not a condition. I'm merely pregnant," she looked at him haughtily and fished out her car keys from her purse._

_"I'm sorry, you know what I mean. You shouldn't be alone these days," Leo pleaded with him and Cora wondered how much the fact that he was blatantly in love with her fed his compassion. _

_"So what do you propose, Leopold Blanchard?"_

_"I'm saying that a small town like Storybrooke is better than Portland to relax and sort out your thoughts, we have a couple of guestrooms and Mary loves you. Think about it!" Leo opened the car door for her and shut it behind her, leaving Cora to contemplate her options._

* * *

"What is taking her so long? You said she had to make a call?" Mary Margaret looked questioningly at Cora as she tried to find the perfect position on the table for the salad bowl in her hand. The older woman was standing next to David, helpfully listing his various shortcomings of the gastronomical nature.

"I said that, indeed," Cora answered noncommittally and Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes.

"What aren't you telling me? You look shady," Mary Margaret told her accusingly and waved a salad fork at her.

"That's just my general demeanour, dear," Cora chuckled and changed the topic, "By the way, your daughter knows I'm helping with her accommodation."

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes dramatically at that and put down the salad bowl with a loud thud. "I can't believe you, Cora...Could you at least tell me what you are planning before you get the whole neighbourhood involved?"

"No, that would ruin the surprise. Trust me with this, Mary," she said enigmatically and took the metal spatula from David's hand to turn a patty. "I know what I'm doing."

"That is exactly what I'm afraid of," Mary Margaret sighed mostly to herself and pushed the long-suffering bowl two inches to the right, satisfied with her work. She snapped her head to the side when her ears of a near dog-like hearing range picked up the sound of the front door closing.

* * *

_Cora didn't know how it happened, but before long she was living with the Blanchards in their enormous Storybrooke mansion, packing lunch for Leo and Mary every day and managing the company by working mostly from home. The finalisation of her inheritance was coming underway nicely and her daughter's demands to be let out into the real world were becoming more and more erratic these days._

_The labour was a terrifying affair lasting sixteen hours and she slipped in and out of delirium. Later she was informed that she took great joy in screaming Henry's and Leo's name and calling them several versions of less-than-appealing nicknames, something she couldn't recall no matter how hard she tried._

_When she got to hold her daughter in her arms for the first time, she allowed a sob escape her lips that wrecked her whole being, because her child, even as a newborn, looked so much like Henry with her tuft of jet black hair and brown eyes, that she thought she was seeing a ghost._

_"Ma'am, we need a name," a nurse reminded her and she gave her the first thing that came to mind._

_"It's Regina. Regina Mills."_

_Little did she know back then that by giving her that name she doomed her daughter to be her constant, painful reminder of a lost love._

* * *

Regina opened the backdoor leading to the yard that hosted the garden party and her senses went immediately overboard by the blinding rays of the late March sun, the smell of burnt hamburger patties (an indicator that David still had room for improvement) and the noise created by a charging Mary Margaret passing the sound barrier. She was certain she would've dropped to the ground under the weight of her sister's half-tackle if it weren't for Emma holding her up with her free hand.

She half-consciously noted that the younger girl manoeuvred away from them, slipped into the garden and closed the backdoor in a surprising demonstration of sensibility, leaving them to their overt display of emotion that Regina couldn't quite place and, frankly, it blew her out of comfort zone.

"Reggie, you are such an idiot," Mary Margaret murmured into her shoulder as she hugged her. "Such an idiot!" her sister repeated for good measure and Regina found herself nodding along. She wasn't sure why Mary Margaret was calling her an idiot: she had quite many reasons to choose from. _Probably because I provoked her teenage daughter long enough she decided to ride a hostile horse, _she thought, remorse filling her lungs and squeezing out all the air.

"I know and you have every right to hate me," she said in a barely audibly voice and Mary Margaret's body froze up.

"You really are an idiot, Regina Mills! Why would you think that?" Mary Margaret admonished her and placed her palms on both sides of her face. "I'm very angry with you and I missed so, so much, but I could never hate you. Never."

_...What?_

"I wanted to tell you this... and that you are always welcome here," she rushed out, and then visibly calmed down a notch. "And I also know this'll be hard on all of us, but please stop running, Regina," she pleaded with her and kissed her on the forehead, as she used to do back when she prepared a significantly younger Regina for school every weekday at unholy hours, because she had to catch a ride with Cora to Portland to attend lectures at the local college. Still, it was always Mary Margaret who packed her breakfast and lunch and sent her off with a kiss. "I'm sorry, I wanted to say all this in private but I heard your and Emma's voice and I panicked. I thought you two might..." Whatever they might have done according to Mary Margaret, Regina didn't get to know. "I didn't want to make a scene in front of our parents."

Regina blinked a few times to regain the control she lost at the sudden wave of emotions crashing against her. "Well, this obviously wasn't a scene, right?" she asked lightly.

"Yes, well, it could've been worse," Mary Margaret smiled at her softly, and at that moment Regina figured out why the older woman was so eager to catch her before she met anyone else. Mary Margaret knew her better than anyone in this family, her mother included, and even after three years of barely speaking and general phone call awkwardness, she still understood her unwillingness to face her mistakes and weaknesses, especially if they involved her rather delicate relationship with her family.

_She didn't want me to face this all alone._

* * *

_Cora observed this young man's interaction with her three year old daughter with growing curiosity. The boy, whose name was David, was her step-daughter's newest boyfriend in a long line of suitors, and if anyone asked Cora (which they incidentally didn't do), she would've given her blessing to the couple. Maybe she was a tad biased, but anyone who could handle the bundle of energy constantly craving attention, also known as Regina Mills, was instantly good with her. _

_She took a long sip of her wine, cherishing the lingering taste on her tongue. Seeing these two young people act so familial around her daughter, she had to ask herself the question haunting her since the day she gave birth. _

Why am I so scared of you?

_Her doctors called it postpartum depression and Cora would've agreed with that opinion if it hadn't lasted for years. The first few months after giving birth to Regina were absolutely heartbreaking, mostly because they were everything but heartbreaking: no great emotional highs and lows, no feelings of inadequacy, no joy and no pain. No nothing. It was assuring to understand that a period like that was rather normal and many woman had gone on the deep end before her, yet assurance lasted for so long and then left, leaving her to confusion and a pressure in her chest._

_She tried to solve these issues by burying herself under her various other responsibilities. Regardless of their relationship before his car accident, Henry left Mills Works to Cora and she found it difficult to balance her life as a business owner and her other, often neglected one as a mother and wife. Maybe that suited her just fine; it was an excuse good as any._

_Still, the idea that she was supposed to love this person wholeheartedly and try her best to become a good mother, as she had promised to her before this whole ordeal went down, plagued her every day, especially when her teenage step-daughter could do a better work than her without bumping into any trouble on the way._

* * *

"So much for not making a scene," Emma rolled her eyes as she shut the door behind her and went up to the grill, where David and Cora were arguing inanely about ground meat and ideal patty sizes. "Typical Mum. I bet she asked us to keep it cool, because she didn't want anyone to steal her thunder," she commented and grabbed an overly crispy lump of meat from the grill. At the horrified facial expressions of her father and grandmother, she easily added, "Didn't you know? My full name is Queen Emma of Asbestos. I thought they told you when you signed the papers, Dad."

"No, they didn't, Your Majesty," David played along and all three of them and even Leo, who was lying on a lounger, sipping a mojito, turned towards the door as they heard it creak. There stood Regina with an overjoyed Mary Margaret attached to her by a hand resting on her back.

"Hey," Regina waved at them easily, looking every bit as composed as she did when Emma first saw her on the doorstep. "Thank you for inviting me."

David smiled brightly at her and responded, "Good to have you, Reg! Long time no see!" Mary Margaret shot him a murderous glare and he mouthed back a 'what', then flipped a piece of meat quickly, "So, how do you like your burger, Reg?"

"Thank you, but I think I'll stick to the salad for now," she countered and that earned a chuckle from David.

"You still don't trust my cooking?" he questioned and greeted her with an easy one-armed hug that didn't last particularly long, and maybe that was the thing that made it look so natural and normal, as if they'd only met yesterday over a few mugs of beer. Emma never stopped admiring this element of her father's personality; he could be so friendly and charming that Emma didn't even feel embarrassment over the fact that she once mistook him for an actual prince.

"I'm not suicidal yet," Regina flashed a mean grin and expectedly, David let out a dramatic gasp, something he obviously learnt from his wife.

"You wound me, but it's good to know you haven't changed a bit."

"I, too, cherish my consistent personality, David," she bickered and popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. Emma watched the exchange with growing curiosity; she could swear she noticed a shift in Regina's disposition, but she couldn't quite put a finger on it.

_Just how many layers do you have, Regina?_


	5. Chapter 5

After exchanging pleasantries for a couple minutes, Regina felt the conversation come to a lull and, consequently, her restlessness slowly taking over. She excused herself to go to the restroom to freshen up and then made her way to the house, taking out her phone mid-step to check her emails. She noted with a resigned sigh that she already had 14 unread mails and she last logged in a mere half an hour ago.

_I'm surrounded by incompetent idiots._

She forwarded some immediately to her personal assistant, telling him to take care of them at least until Sunday evening, and then typed a quick note to Kathryn, asking her to get the raw files of the latest editorial from that imbecile photographer they employed for whatever inexplicable reason.

_I need the raws. I don't care for his excuses. Threaten him with cutting off his balls, if you need to. Better yet, just cut off his balls and save humankind from mental degradation by not allowing him to spread his DNA. Thank you, R. — _her note said, and her friend fired off a reply in a couple of seconds telling her not to worry, her text posing as a painful reminder that they needed to find someone to fill Kat's place, someone at least half as efficient as her.

She decided against going to the bathroom and chose the kitchen instead as her temporary residence, since it was filled with very familiar-looking old pots and pans, something that always reminded her of Mary Margaret and her addiction to cooking. Tink probably saw her online because her phone beeped indicating an incoming message.

_Christina Bell: What's up, Regina? Going strong? Is everyone still alive?_

Regina smirked at that, imagining the perky and teasing lilt of her best friend's voice, and shot back a text to her.

_Regina Mills: For the time being. I might jump Emma later._

_Christina Bell: Jump how?_

_Regina Mills: Murderously, Tink. She gets on my nerves._

_Christina Bell: What did she do?_

_Regina Mills: Nothing._

_Christina Bell: ?_

_Regina Mills: She was actually nice._

_Christina Bell: I understand how that would infuriate you._

Regina sighed out loud yet again and her shoulders sagged in defeat as she dropped her weight against the nearest counter.

_Regina Mills: It's complicated._

_Christina Bell: Don't I know it?_

* * *

_Regina checked the time on her wristwatch, getting a bit fidgety sitting in a red, velveteen-covered armchair that stuck to her nylon stockings in an uncomfortable way. The door leading to the office finally opened, revealing a blonde woman with a particularly youthful air around her, wearing a flowery dress that made Regina assume she was the secretary of this Christina Bell person._

_"Regina Mills?" she asked and Regina nodded. "Hey! I'm sorry, I hope you didn't have to wait for long. I had a phone therapy session."_

_"That's a thing?" Regina asked after blinking in surprise, realising her mistake. She stood up and approached the other woman with measured steps and a fixed smile, trying to look as confident as possible._

_"Yes, I regularly do them. Some people get anxious about meeting in person," she explained and offered her hand, "Christina Bell. Come in!" she beckoned and opened the door wider._

_Regina stepped into a small and extremely crowded room that sported an interior decoration style she could only describe as 'eccentric'. The natural light sifting through the two large windows provided a warm enough temperature that Regina chose to hang her dark pea coat on the rack by the door. She allowed a moment of pause to take in all that the room had to offer: the comfortable-looking armchairs accompanied by matching tuffets; the two loungers; the tiny washstand; the dark, solid wood table and the bookshelves that ruled every wall from floor to ceiling._

_"Why don't you sit down?" Christina asked her and put up some water in an electric boiler._

_"Where?"_

_"Wherever. Pick something you like," the therapist smiled softly and Regina voted for a chair, as it looked a little less informal and personal than lying on a couch. Christina looked pleased with her decision and seated herself next to her, propping her legs up on a pouffe in a laidback manner that normally would've irked Regina, but this woman seemed so self-assured and genuine that she couldn't mind it._

_"Well, I'm going to venture a guess here and say that I'm the older out of the two of us, so what do you think about getting to a first name basis? I mostly go by Tina."_

_"You can call me Regina," she offered and looked around again. "Do people usually find this place relaxing?"_

_"No," Tina cocked an eyebrow at her and said, "They find _me_ relaxing and this room is my extension." She jumped up from her chair as the sound of boiling water could be heard, and went on to pour the water in a ceramic pot and place black tea leaves in it. "So, what brings you to Paris, Regina?"_

_"School," Regina stated simply, knowing she would probably have to unveil her more complex reasoning later. "I'm doing my masters at ESMOD. What brought _you _here?" She asked casually, figuring the small talk was some sort of ritual for first timers. She wouldn't admit this later to herself but she was actually enjoying the simplicity of the chat; it wasn't a usual thing for her to talk to anyone outside of her regular circles and this woman had a way of making her feel at ease._

_"I moved here for school too a decade ago. Watch out, this city can really suck you in," she warned her jokingly. "I originally picked Paris because I was told this is the City of Love and I like love," Tina told her with a twinkle in her eyes. "Tea?"_

_"Thank you. Have you found it?" Regina asked and then added, "Love?"_

_"Oh, you know, I was never exactly looking for it," the older woman replied and placed two teacups on the small coffee table standing between the two of them, leaving Regina wondering whatever that was supposed to mean. "So, what brought you here _today_?"_

_Regina warmed her hands with the heat emitted by the scalding hot liquid as she covered the cup with her palms, pondering her answer. It wasn't as if she didn't know the reason; it had been a little more than half a year since she practically fled Maine after that fateful day that left her with an immeasurable amount of guilt and endless sleepless nights. It had been a toss-up between FIT in Manhattan and ESMOD Paris and her obvious choice should have been New York, if it weren't for her intense need to get away, as far as possible. "I am insanely jealous of my niece and I want this feeling gone," she told the psychologist evenly, waiting for a sign of reproof that never came._

_"Okay, good," Tina nodded sombrely and took a sip of her tea. "I suspect a very long story here."_

_"Approximately 23 years long," Regina said dryly, a shaky sigh rising in her chest._

_"Well, you are my last visitor, so we have all the time in the world," Tina encouraged, "and if we stay long, we can always order a pizza for dinner. Did you know you can do that in Paris? Capital of haute cuisine? I was surprised first."_

* * *

When Emma finally found the time (and a foyer thankfully lacking wailing women) to get the glasses her mother asked for, she hardly anticipated to run into a visibly deflated Regina perched atop a counter, legs crossed, typing away furiously on her smart phone. She shook her head when she remembered what she came here for and that was definitely not creeping up on an unsuspecting Regina.

"Sorry to bother, I just came to get some glasses," she told her and Regina refused to look up from the screen of her phone. Emma noted that she squared her shoulders and straightened her spine upon hearing her voice. _She is so freaking defensive._

"Sounds important. By all means, don't let me keep you from your task," the older woman replied flippantly and Emma couldn't help rolling her eyes in irritation. This reaction wasn't anything she didn't expect but it still pushed her buttons to be on the receiving end of Regina's endless taunts.

"Well, you are kind of keeping me from it, seeing how they are right above you," she said, pointing at the cupboard at Regina's head, "Could you move?"

Regina finally glanced at her and gave her a sadistic little smile as she responded, "Make me."

Emma crossed her arms nonchalantly, not giving Regina the satisfaction of showing any sign of annoyance, and propped her left shoulder against the base of the arch that separated the kitchen from the foyer.

"You know," she started casually, "I have to give it to you: you were right about your consistent personality," she sent her an almost complimentary nod, "You are still immature."

"Wouldn't you know all about that?" Regina smirked at her in return, unfazed by the insult, and placed her phone beside her.

"Touché. In fact, I'm so immature that if you don't move your ass"—she straightened up from her slouched posture—"I'm going to pick you up and throw you out in the backyard," she said and walked up to Regina, who observed her with a peculiar look, showing her teeth ever-so-slightly that could almost count as a grin if Emma squinted. "And don't you think I wouldn't do it."

"Colour me curious," the older woman told her and directed her eyes up to meet the gaze of Emma, her position on the counter putting them at the same eye level. "Maybe I'd like to see you try. Then again, I have just the feeling I'm going to need all that wine to survive this evening, so"—she jumped off, barely missing bumping into Emma—"go ahead."

When Emma left, she was so focused on balancing six glasses that she never saw the painful clouding of Regina's eyes.

* * *

_"Ugh, she is such a creep," thirteen years old Regina huffed and threw a rock in the waves, rightfully affronted, at least according to her. "She follows me everywhere, I'm surprised she isn't lurking somewhere around here in a bush or so."_

_"Maybe she has a crush on you," her best friend, Kathryn noted and lied down on the pebbly beach, placing her old-school aviators on her head. "These rocks suck, I can't believe Maine is full of sandy beaches and Storybrooke is stuck with this. I can't wait to go to college. Maybe to Hawaii, that sounds good."_

_Regina rolled her eyes, plopping back on the ground to sit beside her. Kathryn was almost four years her senior and already a high school junior at the prestigious all-girl boarding school her parents sent her to learn discipline, but she still spent every summer back in her home town, wasting most of her time doing nothing particularly productive with her childhood friend and neighbour. Despite their age difference, Regina often felt that she was the more level-headed out of the two of them; Kathryn said, however, that the only thing that differentiated them was the fact that Kathryn paired off being whiny with a bright and fun personality, while Regina was broody and vindictive. Regardless, they both liked to complain._

_"She can't have a crush, she is a kid," Regina said, decidedly ignoring her friend's tirade about the beach._

_"So are you," Kat reminded her, earning another glare from Regina. "I'm just kidding, sheesh, Reg! I bet she just wants a friend. You said she doesn't go to kindergarten, right?"_

_"Yes, she starts school in September. MM is prepping her for that at home," she told her, "It doesn't matter though. I have enough friends already, so she can back off."_

_Kathryn burst out laughing at that and told her, "Reg, I'm quite literally your only friend and I live in another state. Sorry to burst your bubble."_

_"You are enough," Regina said confidently, "And even if you weren't, I still wouldn't befriend that little leech," she spat out and went on, "I can't speak to MM alone, I can't go to the stables alone, next up she'll skip grade school just to become my classmate."_

_"Oh my god, you are so melodramatic," Kathryn whined and let out an undignified yawn, clearly not very invested in Regina's woes. "I've been at yours a gazillion times and all she ever does is existing in the same room. How horrible of her! Taking up all that space and using up all that air!" she mimicked Regina's tone and chuckled, flicking a small pebble at her friend._

_"Laugh all you want, it is true. Sometimes I wish they just adopted me instead of a mute creeper. It is not like Mother would've cared at all," she rushed out and looked away, because she didn't want to see the pity in Kathryn's eyes._

* * *

"Fear not, your knight in shining armour arrived bearing cups! Let the festivities begin!" Emma announced deliberately pompously and placed the wine glasses on the central table in a cluttered mess that threw off Mary Margaret's composition of salad bowls and china in about five seconds.

"Where's your Aunt?" Mary Margaret asked and passed a bottle of the red wine from Regina's net-bag to David, who had left the grill to Cora's supervision after getting fed up by her continuous nagging and supposedly funny anecdotes about his various shortcomings.

"That sounds super weird, Mum," Emma made a face and then answered her question, "She is doing some work stuff. Emails, I think?" She shrugged innocently when she noticed a spatula-wielding Cora peeping at her and raising her eyebrows knowingly. _Freaking Gran with her sixth sense!_

"The fashion business must be very busy," her father mused aloud as he pushed the metal helix of the bottle opener into the corkwood. The cork let go with a loud pop as he pulled it back. "I propose a toast!" he said with enthusiasm and started to pour the liquid into glasses.

"To what? Awkward family gatherings?" Emma scoffed, earning a glare from Mary Margaret, who was trying desperately to put an end to the Emma-inflicted chaos on the table.

"Made slightly more awkward by pointing it out," Regina's mocking voice came from behind and Emma couldn't help flinching in surprise as she turned back. David chuckled at them, clearly not perturbed by their bickering, and passed Regina a glass.

"Good, Reg, we've been waiting for you! Can't have a toast without you," he told her amicably and served the others too, leaving out a very disappointed Emma. "None for you. Go get some juice!"

"You just lost about a dozen cool points, Dad," Emma muttered to the amusement of Regina and grabbed a box of orange juice from the icebox, grimacing at the ridiculousness of the situation but she moderated herself before she could remind her parents that she had already acquainted herself with alcohol numerous times. _Probably not something I should bring up._

"Luckily, I have hundreds left," David countered and focused his attention on Regina again. "So how's work? Emma just told us that they keep you busy even at weekends."

"She…did?" Regina looked taken aback momentarily as she bore her eyes into Emma's in silent question. "Well, it is true. We are running on a deadline and things are a mess but that's nothing new."

_She really must've wanted to come then, _Emma thought and fiddled with the carton she held.

"You absolutely must tell us all about your big fashion house, Reggie, I don't even know what you do exactly," Mary Margaret chimed in and then winced, realising how her sentence sounded. "David, toast!" she instructed her husband, who raised his glass.

"Let's drink to our family, awkward or not," he wiggled his eyebrows cheekily, "And to new beginnings!"

"And to our insanely successful children," Cora added and appeared between Regina and Emma, placing a hand on their shoulders and squeezing them in a calming gesture, Emma figured. "Who will try their best not to kill each other," Cora told them in a whisper so light only the two of them could hear and went to pick up her glass of wine from the table, raising it. "Cheers!"

Emma clinked with Regina and their gaze held for a moment that stretched lazily, giving Emma the impression that half an eternity had passed while she gripped her glass of orange juice and stared at the other woman, trying to convey a message she herself didn't quite understand. Was it a peace offering? She hoped at least that it didn't come off as anything malicious. Regina just arched an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine, turning away from her. Emma remained standing there, eyeing her profile for a couple of seconds and feeling utterly stupid.

* * *

Regina downed her wine in one go, caring little how that action made her look or whether anyone was looking in her direction at all. She didn't lie to Emma back in the kitchen; she really needed something to take the edge off her anxiety that was boiling on the back burner, not reaching the surface but still utterly distracting and annoying. The worst of it all was that she didn't feel _too bad_; in all honesty, this was nothing like the churning anger that came upon her in her mother's mansion. She got the strangest of nostalgic notions as everyone fell into mundane chatter that fortunately did not include her. This was so domestic and almost _nice. _

That idea alone made her want to barf because her current emotions did very little to legitimise her three-year-long bout of depression, making her question whether she had a right to have the feelings that emptied her days and left her with self-hate and little else. This visit was supposed to be a good thing, or at least a productive thing helping her come to terms with her demons, yet she went and screwed it all up the first chance she got, going into full blown attack mode. _So much for control._

She poured another glass of wine and now took her time to enjoy the flavour. She felt like an idiot for letting Emma get the better of her in the kitchen.

_Trying to rile up a teenage girl… Good job, you miserable bitch, _she berated herself, even though she knew she wasn't supposed to do so. It was a habit she couldn't shake no matter how many times her therapist chided her.

_You insult people and turn everything into a head-butting contest because you assume that everyone wants to put you down and when they refuse to run away with their tails between their legs, you simply have no idea how to handle yourself, _she heard Tina's words in her head as she tasted her drink. She guessed her friend was right, because now everything seemed so distorted and out of proportion. _How the hell could I handle Emma Swan?_

She shook her head slightly, willing these intrusive thoughts to disappear and zeroed in on Mary Margaret carrying a plate of hot wings, freshly out of the oven by the looks of it.

"Regina, would you lend me a hand?" Mary Margaret turned toward her and Regina found herself moving in a sluggish pace.

"How can I––"

"You actually can't really help, I just wanted to ask you something," her sister admitted and they walked to the table to make some space for the plate, which Mary Margaret promptly placed next to her favourite salad bowl.

"Are you staying at the mansion tonight?" Mary Margaret asked, cutting to the chase, and fiddled with the tablecloth.

"Yes, I believe so," Regina said, "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I thought you could stay here, if you preferred," Mary Margaret told her with a cautious smile Regina had seen from her so many times before and it usually carried a whole lot more meaning than simple indication of amicability. Regina understood that her sister was giving her a way out. Sadly, the alternative was still not something she would wish on her enemies.

"Thank you, but last time I checked you didn't exactly have a guestroom," she said eventually.

"We have a couch," Mary Margaret noted, "David wouldn't mind sleeping on it. It's his new hobby actually"––Regina gave her a blank stare––"Okay, it is not, but _I _sure wouldn't mind it, the older he gets the louder he snores. After almost twenty years of marriage a good night's sleep is in huge demand."

Regina nodded and said, "I can relate to that. Kathryn snores so bad I need earplugs."

"Oh!" Mary Margaret reddened considerably and then fought off her shock and started grinning. "I wasn't aware you two were… involved. It explains a lot, Reggie."

"What," Regina uttered and tried to wrap her head around Mary Margaret's rambling. "I mean we share a flat."

"I'm happy for you, sweetheart." Mary Margaret reached out to pat her shoulder.

"We are flatmates," Regina sighed in exasperation. "Friends!"

"Friend friends or, you know, _friendly _friends?" her sister whispered conspiratorially and Regina rolled her eyes.

"I'm not sleeping with her," Regina answered in a stage whisper. "Why are we having this conversation? Am I suddenly sixteen again?"

A wistful smile passed the older woman's face and she said, "You were naïve to think you could avoid my prying, and I'm still better than the Cora Mills Inquisition. Appreciate me!"

"I do," replied Regina and they turned away with an understanding as the others approached the table, effectively putting an end to their exchange.

* * *

_Emma stopped her spoon halfway to her mouth as she heard the sound of a door being shut upstairs. It was a regular occurrence in this household but it was usually her doing, so when she heard the strong thuds of someone marching down the stairs she felt dread sneak up her spine. _

_A rather cross Regina appeared in the kitchen, her gaze landing on the other girl, and then advanced to the table in pace so quick and frantic that Emma expected the force behind her steps culminate in a backhanded slap. She was wrong, however._

_"Explain this," Regina ordered coldly and dropped a weary-looking bag on the kitchen table right in front of Emma who forgot her meal in a millisecond as her eyes landed on the ominous bag that she recognised instantly._

_"Where did you find that," Emma croaked out, looking chalkier by the minute._

_"In your room," Regina said, the anger and resentment plastered all over her face making Emma's nerves dance on an edge. Her morning couldn't start in a worse fashion than this._

_"What the hell! You went through my stuff?" She stood up to match Regina's height who in turn slammed her hands on the table. A couple of Cheerios escaped the bowl and rolled off the table._

_"Yes, by all means, please, get offended." Regina grabbed the bag and emptied it all over the table, a good dozen wristwatches tumbling on the hardwood. "I said 'explain'."_

_"It's not what you think," the other girl mumbled, "They're all fake."_

_"Much better then," Regina said mockingly and then went on, "So it's merely fraud and not thievery?" She lifted a watch and worried it in her palm, her mouth curling in disgust. "What is wrong with you, Miss Swan? Do you have a fateful attraction towards juvenile detention centres? If so, don't waste my sister's time and just get caught already. I can't believe it'd be difficult, you live with the sheriff, after all."_

_Emma scurried to pick up the fake Rolexes and Doxas and hid them in the bag. She had no idea how to climb out of the ditch she had dug herself in without sounding like she wanted to put all blame on Neal, because even if it was his idea to get some easy money, she readily went along with him._

_"Please, don't tell Mum," Emma said in a tiny voice, preparing herself for the wave of reprimands coming from her step-aunt. "I don't want to hurt her, I just needed the money."_

_"What on Earth do you need money for? You literally have all that you need, your parents give you everything. More than often beyond their capabilities," Regina rolled her eyes at her and sneered, "Not like you deserve it, as it seems."_

_"Yeah, rub that in, because I sure didn't know it already," Emma barked back, "It's complicated, okay?"_

_Regina closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, letting a sense of tranquillity take over her. "Quit whatever this is," she pointed at the bag," and anything idiocy you are doing to get the money you 'need'," she indicated her disdain with air quotes, "or I'm ending you, Emma Swan."_

_"Are you…telling Mum?"_

_She pondered her answer then said, "Only if you don't comply. No one likes the bearer of bad news. This is for your own benefit; hopefully even you are able to recognise it."_

_"But you are not doing this for my own good, right?" Emma asked, but it sounded more like a statement._

_Regina chose to leave that question unanswered._

* * *

Regina quit rolling around olives on her plate with her fork and instead tried to look especially interested in David's story about some man who used to break havoc at Granny's.

"Yeah, so I hired Leroy in the end. It is a win-win situation: he has a job and I know where he is during work hours. No drunken disorderliness in town," David told everyone and helped himself to his wife's greek salad, carefully avoiding olives, which resulted in a stained tablecloth that did not come as a surprise to anyone.

"That's why you're the sheriff," Mary Margaret smiled at him sweetly, "Because you are so smart, honey."

"Is this sarcasm? Are you being sarcastic or corny?" Emma squinted at them and dipped a fry into ranch dressing. _Disgusting, _Regina thought and made a face when the younger girl went ahead and actually consumed that abhorrent _thing._

"I'm being…in love," Mary Margaret replied in a dreamy fashion that made Emma groan and everyone else chuckle, safe for Regina who was embarrassed for a reason she couldn't fathom. She couldn't have been away from them for so long that she forgot about their constant bickering, could she?

"Talking of love," Leopold cut in and looked at Emma, saying, "Are you still dating that Neal boy?"

For a moment, it seemed as though Emma was about to choke on a fry but David saved her from an untimely death by slapping her back helpfully. "What? Never!" she spluttered and croaked. Regina wondered whether the blush on her cheeks could be contributed to shame or adrenaline. "We are friends."

_This is a lot more entertaining when it isn't happening to me, _Regina figured.

"Neal has an internet girlfriend," Mary Margaret supplied, "They haven't met but they talk on Skype, it is very romantic!" Regina swore she heard Emma murmur 'cybersex' between two coughs and couldn't stop the tugging at her lips that threatened to turn into an actual grin.

"Yeah, yeah, very Nicholas Sparks, go Neal," Emma droned and stabbed the meat of her burger.

Apparently it wasn't a satisfying answer, because Leopold ventured, "How about you, Regina? Do you have a—"

"Can we find a better topic than our respective love lives? How about we talk about Gran's secret agent job," Emma cut him off and threw her hands up in frustration. Regina, on the other hand, felt like she had just been slapped and gripped the edge of the table instinctively.

"Hilarious, Emma. I'm obviously not a secret agent."

"Sure, you would say that…" Emma wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, sporting a smug expression. A_bout her successful derailment of the conversation, no wonder, _Regina thought. _She is so irksome when she tries to be nice._

* * *

_Regina stared numbly at Emma for a devastatingly long moment and then snapped out of her stupor, scrambling to pull her cell phone out of the pocket of her jeans, quickly dialling 911. Relief eased up her constricted throat as she heard the familiar sound of the dial tone, thanking all heavens and deities high up above that emergency numbers could be called all over the world even with a UK SIM card._

_"911. Please state the nature of your emergency," the female operator asked her in a pleasant tone, calming down her nerves a notch._

_"I...uh, my friend? She," Regina swallowed, "fell off a horse. She is conscious but..." she trailed off numbly, not knowing how to proceed, "I think she might injured her back, no, screw that, she probably did. Jesus!" Regina closed her eyes, trying to bring some order to her chaotic thoughts and failing miserably as the first choked sob broke from the depth of her chest. "I need an ambulance, please send an ambulance. Please!" She was only half-aware how frantic she sounded._

_"Ma'am, listen to me. I'll immediately contact the nearest EMS but you first need to tell me your exact location and your name."_

_Regina took a few breaths and said, "Regina Mills. I'm in Storybrooke, Maine. Stables at the end of Mifflin Street."_

_Later she could not recall how she ended up in an ambulance van (did she have to bribe someone or throw a tantrum?) sitting next to Emma, who was strapped down to a stretcher, her face looking chalky and her eyes unfocused. All Regina remembered from the ride to the hospital in Portland was gripping Emma's clammy hand as though her life depended on it and maybe it did. Maybe both of their lives depended on that, it surely felt that way. Then there were words of reassurance and a paramedic asking for Mary Margaret's number, which she readily supplied, not wanting to call her sister and explain the situation, because she had no idea what she could say or if she could even utter a word._

_"You are going to be fine," she told Emma, unable to decide who needed the encouragement more. The EMTs were saying something about vitals and nerve stimulus but she filtered it out, choosing blissful ignorance.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Hello! Sorry for the delay. My reasons are simple: I was rather unhappy with the direction the show took (still unhappy) and also with my writing. I took some time off to go abroad and now I'm back in the saddle so enjoy the chapter, things will really pick up from now on!  
p.s.: quite many easter eggs in this chapter, wonder who'll pick up on them :)

**disclaimer: **I don't own the show or the characters and I make no profit of this whatsoever

* * *

They successfully manoeuvred the dinner to the point where desserts were due, this time in the form of vanilla ice cream and Cora's world famous cherry pie, something her grandmother was quite smug about, and Emma counted no casualties. That is, if she disregarded that one time when her grandfather tried to talk about Regina's love life or lack thereof (if she was right about her assumptions) almost leading the night into an even more awkward conclusion. So far the day exceeded her previous, admittedly very low, expectations. 

_Survive the day: check. Not make an idiot out of myself: check, I hope. Nobody's crying: check-ish?_

She didn't exactly know what went down between her mother and Regina in the hallway but knowing Mary Margaret, sobbing had a high probability. Regardless, now they both looked a lot more at ease than at the start of this whole shindig, especially Regina, who was talking about her position at work, which seemingly put the older woman in her element. Emma tried her best to appear intelligent, even though she understood about every second word of every sentence filled with jargon not completely foreign, but enough to make her feel like a fish out of water or the ill-behaving child who was forced to sit at the adults table, trying to make sense of things.

"No, I'm not the head of a single department, not exactly. We coordinate brand management together with Kathryn and we share responsibilities. It is definitely not an ordinary arrangement," Regina said, confidence radiating off her and Emma realised that this was a part of her step-aunt she had yet to seen: the self-assured businessperson ready to take on the world. She pondered how many times she would see her switch between personas until they called it a night. "Branding is not merely about marketing. We need to set long term strategic goals and that's where I come in," she explained further and then politely refused the slice of pie that Mary Margaret tried to push towards her.

"Sorry, I'm a bit dumb when it comes to fashion," David said and patted his flannel shirt with both hands, indicating that he was completely aware of his less-than-trendy attire. "What do you two do, for example, on a normal workday?"

"That is the kind of question most difficult to answer"—Regina smiled apologetically—"Usually we do things like finalising new lines and checking editorials, making sure things are aligned with the company image. Then every other hour Kathryn comes up with a usually somewhat idiotic idea and we try to decide how to incorporate those. The last one of those boosted our revenue by 2 per cent, I'm still not sure how or why."

"She sounds like a real blessing to Venetia-deGrasse," Cora noted and Emma scrunched up her face in confusion. _Is that the name of the fashion house or some guy? Or both? _She did not verbalise her question in fear of sounding like a moron and took a bite of her pie instead, letting the sweet and tart flavour take over her taste buds. "It will come as a huge blow when she moves away to France."

"Indeed, it will," Regina responded rigidly and her disposition turned distant in a second, hinted by the miniscule changes in her posture that might have eluded others, but not Emma. "Anyway, Leopold, what was it about the shrimps you wanted to tell me?"

Emma groaned in searing mental pain. _Not this crap again! I can't handle more of the freaking shrimps. _She made a quick estimate that put the number of times she heard her grandfather talk about the fishing ban at around twenty, which was a lot more than she would have liked (that was incidentally zero). _What the hell was that though? Who wants to hear that story? She must want to change the topic really bad. Either that or she is also a shrimp fanatic. God, I hope not._

"Oh, right, you don't know," Leopold said jovially, leaning closer to the table, "Due to overfishing in the recent years a state ban had to come to force to regulate the shrimp population. Thankfully, fishing takes up a relatively small per cent of Storybrooke's yearly income, so we weren't much affected by it, however…"

Although she knew she was being insensitive, she worked really hard to tune out Leopold at this point and turned her attention towards her grandmother, who seemed reserved and deep in thought. It was strange to hear this exchange yet again, knowing that Regina had no idea she wasn't merely humouring the older man, that they witnessed this almost on an everyday level.

_And the Academy Award for sweeping things under rugs goes to…our family!_

* * *

_It was a stagnant day, humidity and the smell of freshly cut grass hung in the air, the latter coming from the general direction of the Midas' backyard. Perfect day for a stroll and also a chance for Emma to try out her new cut-off leather gloves in action. As far as wheeling went, Emma was fairly proud of her progress; she was getting more and more confident every day moving around in her new chair, praising whoever decided it would be a great idea to create a settlement on these relatively flat grounds. She wasn't in the mood to break herself all over again at the end of a slightly steeper slope, something with like, say, 10 degrees. _

_She noticed the figure of her mother in the distance; she was pushing her bicycle slowly, looking over the Blanchard Mansion and its occupants. Emma sped up a little to catch up and then she gripped the push rims in her hands to stop her wheelchair gradually, parking right next to her. Emma followed her mother's line of sight to the ugly scene unfolding before them. _

_"Hey, Mum, what's going on?" she nodded towards Cora and Leopold; the two of them were engaged in a verbal fight that looked anything but promising. "Dish duty disagreement?"_

_"Hi, honey," Mary Margaret smiled at her, "I wish. Your grandfather is having a… bad day again."_

_Emma made a face, knowing that 'bad days' in their household meant that Leopold was messing up things at the office, forgetting anniversaries or losing car keys. _

_"What's it this time?" Emma asked and locked her chair in place._

_Mary Margaret remained silent for a while and then said, "He called her by my mother's name."_

_"That's…" Emma trailed off, "New, I guess."_

_"I'm afraid it will get old soon," Mary Margaret said and turned away from the pair. "How was therapy?"_

_"Uh, pretty good actually. Wait a bit…" Emma shuffled around and took off her slippers. Under the intense gaze of her mother she went on to make a circular motion with the big toe on her left feet. The movement was shaky and undignified but it made Emma proud. "Cool, huh? Been working on it for a while but I wanted to show it to you in all its wiggly glory."_

_"Honey…" Mary Margaret sounded a tad choked up and she lived up to Emma's expectations when she bowed down to encircle her in a tight hug, followed by a kiss to the crown of her head. _

_"Mum, all right…all right stop it," Emma whined in fake irritation and shimmied away, "I'm working my way up toe-by-toe. I'll walk in a jiffy, no worries, okay?" _

_"I'm not worried about it, honey. Your father is the fussy one," Mary Margaret waved her off and Emma replied with an arched eyebrow._

_"Sure, Mum, whatever you say." _

_Leopold and Cora moved their quarrel from the yard to the inside of the house and Emma swallowed down the uncomfortable lump in her throat. _

_"So, anyway," she said, changing the topic, "Now that I'm getting better as evidenced by all this, do you think we could maybe tell Regina to quit being an idiot and come home or something to that effect? Should I send her a video of my toes to be extra convincing?" _

_"I don't know. Are you trying to get a restraining order?" Mary Margaret quipped, "Because that sounds like a good way to get one."_

_"Muuum, answer my question and don't digress," Emma moaned and her mother huffed out, irritated._

_"Honey, this isn't that easy," Mary Margaret said, "This isn't like an equation where x is your injury and when it's solved you can consider your work done."_

_"Mum, no matter how many times you come up with half-assed math similes, I'll still hate algebra," Emma smirked and they rolled away together home, with a slowly dissipating sense of unease in tow, knowing that their talk was nowhere near finished._

* * *

"Get real, Mary Margaret, nothing really compares to Columbia," Cora said, "Of course it really depends on external factors…"

"Emma! Are you still with us?"

She snapped her head up at her father's voice like a deer caught in a headlight, only now realising that she spent a good ten minutes zoning out over her cherry pie. She glanced around quickly, taking in the various expressions staring back at her: some chastising, some annoyed, some downright amused. _Of course Regina loves this._

"Yeah, what?" she mumbled and turned sheepish at her mother's frown. "Sorry, er, did you say something?"

"I did," Cora said, "We were wondering with Leo which college you will choose. The deadline is drawing near, isn't it so?"

There was a certain edge to Cora's words and Emma understood that it wasn't a simple enquiry; after all, she had previously congratulated her on her acceptance. It was reasonable to think Cora was pushing for an answer here to fuel her plotting, only Emma had no idea what exactly she was planning at this point. _Better not give her what she wants to hear._

"Uhm, yeah, about that…" Emma cleared her throat and said, "I think I'd like to keep my options open at least until the last letters come in. I mean, who knows?"

"You could always visit more campuses, getting a feel of the place, soaking up some local atmosphere," David proposed helpfully, "You have been to Orono and Amherst, right?"

"Yeah but I only saw the UMass campus; I went to Orono on a school trip. It is a great town, there's almost nothing there." She shrugged and drew a wonky flower on her plate with the cherry sauce from her pie.

"I heard that the Columbia campus is gorgeous. I'm sure Regina would love to show you around—"

"Cora," Mary Margaret cut in, putting an end to Cora's words, "Could you help me take these plates to the kitchen?" Emma gulped audibly at the look her mother gave Cora: it was a hard, levelled stare that left no room for excuses. Cora's previously pleasant smile wavered and turned sour but to her credit she did stand up, grabbed the plates and followed Mary Margaret into the house.

"Pity, I would have liked one more slice…" Leopold murmured and Regina covered her forehead with her palm, squeezed her eyes shut and let go of sigh. Emma figured that she was dead tired, perhaps more so emotionally and mentally than physically. The four of them sat in silence, nobody trying to ease the tension, not even her father who always had a lame joke he could pull out of his pocket. Emma had to give it to him: his strategy was usually sound, because bad puns had a distractive effect on everyone.

"Excuse me…I need to make a call. I'll be right back," Regina declared in a strained voice and scurried to the back of the yard with her purse pushed close to her body, where a shoddy little door on the fence lead out into the night. David and Emma watched her go with a similar worried expression on their faces while Leopold simply looked bemused by the events that had taken place in the last five minutes.

"She didn't take her coat. I, uhm, will go after her," Emma said and David immediately protested.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked.

"Not really," Emma replied with a wince and stood up. She stepped inside the foyer, making as little noise as possible, which turned out to be less of a challenge as the elevated voices of her mother and grandmother dominated the space. She found her backpack and hoodie thrown haphazardly on the couch, forming a shapeless heap.

"We had an agreement, Cora—"

"I want only the best for—"

"You are pushy and—"

Deciding that she had little to no motivation to eavesdrop, she left the house moving around on her tiptoes. Back in the garden she squeezed Regina's blazer into her bag, along with a bottle of wine she managed to fish out from the net-bag without anyone noticing. _Yeah, I still got this._

* * *

Emma trotted along the wide suburban streets of Storybrooke that were built with a casual carelessness people exhibit when they have too much space to cover and not nearly enough inspiration to make something particularly worthwhile. The streetlights had been turned on a couple of hours ago, illuminating the pavement with an orange glow and elongating Emma's shadow. As she turned the corner at the end of their street, she caught sight of the starlit waters of the bay whirling in turbulent waves in the distance. In these parts the wind always picked up with the oncoming night as the temperature dropped to chilly lows. She felt the hair on her arms stand at attention when the breeze blowing from the direction of the ocean hit her skin, goose bumps breaking out all across her forearms, and she pulled the sleeves of her swimming team hoodie down right to her wrists, hoping that the extra layer would provide some much needed warmth.

If anyone asked, Emma would have said that she preferred dawns down at the docks to nights, because at this hour everything was saturated and dull and lonesome in contrary to the bustling of early mornings, when the wind carried the smell of fresh fish and salty water. Most people probably wouldn't have appreciated it the same way Emma did but she had a tendency to associate odours and flavour with memories and all of this brought up a tangible sense of belonging in her. She remembered the summers of her childhood, when she collected pebbles and rocks all day long and built castles out of them with Neal, who was hell-bent on telling ghost stories, not minding it a bit that those had little effect in the middle of the day. Then there had been days long before she met Neal; days when she was almost desperate to win over Regina Mills and come to an understanding with her, done so in her clumsy and childish manners that the older woman brushed off easily, as if she never cared how much effort Emma put into befriending her. Life or fate or whatever was in charge of all this worked in curious ways, because Emma found herself doing something akin to that, except with a very different Regina Mills.

_And I'm very different too, I guess._

It didn't take long to find her sitting on a shoddy bench next to the small, paved track people used for morning jogs or dog-walking. Tonight, the shore was abandoned safe for the lone woman engrossed in the breaking waves and Emma slipped into a state of stupor at the sight. It was weird, to say the least, to see the older woman like this: unalarmed, serene and without a constant need to be composed. It felt as though she didn't know this person and an unwelcome, irksome thought entered her brain reminding her that it might as well be that she had never known her.

She finally gathered up the courage needed to approach her, stepping lightly, her sneakers stirring up the sheen of sand covering the pavement.

"Hey," Emma said tentatively and moved into the older woman's line of sight, waving a little. "I…uh—"

"Oh, for the love of… you again?" Regina snapped at her automatically, her head turning quickly and her locks tangling up in the wind. Emma couldn't hide her surprise at the sudden sharpness of the voice and she could almost imagine her own face, most likely looking like an idiot at that moment. "Did you follow me?"

"No, well yes but no," she rushed out, "I came after you because you left your jacket or blazer or whatever-this-is behind and it's kind of cold so yeah—"

"Sit down you inarticulate bumble before I strangle you myself," Regina cut her off, giving Emma a glare.

"You can't. Gran advised against it. Or threatened. I never know with her," Emma said and plopped down, leaving a significant amount of space between the two of them. "Even though it would be super convenient for you, given how you could dispose of my body in the water and—"

"Are you seriously trying to give me ideas?" Regina arched an eyebrow and her mouth twitched oddly; Emma had a gut feeling that it was a repressed smile but she put that aside to wishful thinking. "Not very clever of you."

"Nah, I'm just unfunny," Emma replied, "Besides, you have no alibi. Dad knows I came to get you."

Regina scoffed at that admission and shook her head, saying, "I see. Emma Swan rushes in to save the damsel in distress from freezing to death. I'm touched. You are truly noble, aren't you?"

"No, not really. It didn't come out right, sorry," Emma admitted and regarded her step-aunt, watching her lightly shiver. "I mean, you aren't much of a damsel. Well, technically you are, except of course if you married in secret, then you de-damselled yourself" —Regina looked unimpressed by her rant—"Anyway, I don't think you need saving. You seem sort of capable."

"Sort of?" Regina asked dryly and Emma chuckled a little.

"You did go for a walk in fifty or so degrees wearing only a sundress so yeah, sort of. Not nearly 'zombie apocalypse survivor' capable but in ideal conditions I think you could live up to a week. Give or take."

"You are giving me a lot of credit. Instead, you could give my blazer. Unless you only popped in to say hello and lecture me on taking care of myself. In which case, thank you for your concern and feel free to move along." Regina gave her the fakest of smiles and Emma wanted to slap herself on the forehead for being so forgetful.

"Yeah, right, sorry," she mumbled in embarrassment and dropped her backpack in her lap to fish out a sadly crumpled piece of clothing. She offered it to Regina, who in turn sighed resignedly, took it from her and pulled it on her shoulders.

"Wrinkled is _never _in season," Regina said, "Now that's done, so care to tell me what you really want? Because as _pleasant_ this is"—she accompanied her sarcastic smile with a circular motion of her hand—"I'm sure we are not each other's number one conversation partners. I have better things to do than chit-chat about zombies with you."

"Such as staring at the water?" Emma ventured, feeling a bit offended, even if it was somewhat unwarranted. A tinge of recollection entered her mind of distant times when all she wanted to be was Regina's number one conversation partner. _Yeah, that turned out well._

"Actually, yes, it is a much better company than you. Not nearly as much of smartass and also not quite as irritating," Regina quipped and raised her eyebrows.

Emma chuckled and did not defend herself. Instead, she pondered her next words in silence as she watched the waves break up into white bubbles and drops of water upon reaching the bigger rocks of the coastline, their surface now alit by the streetlamps.

"I wanted to talk," she said eventually. "About us."

"It takes two to tango," Regina said, "What makes you think I'm a partner in this?"

Emma wanted to scoff and sigh and groan, because it was so like Regina—the Regina she knew—to be intentionally difficult about everything. She counted to ten to stay in focus and said, "We have a long overdue talk and you know it" she said and frowned, like she did every time she got serious, "We_ will_ talk. If not now, then tomorrow. I don't care but we will."

"How unsurprising that you only take your wants and needs into account," Regina noted with disdain.

"What do you want me to say, Regina? I care about this," Emma stated and looked back at her, "You should too. Today was ridiculous; everyone walked on eggshells except Gran. She was a big freaking help as usual," Emma sighed and continued, "Never mind. My point is that these things won't get us anywhere anytime soon. I know dealing with your own fuckery takes time, _shit_"—she shook her head—"Don't I know it…"

"Why?"

"What why?" Emma asked, thrown off by the sudden turn in the conversation.

"Why did you seek me out? Why the peace offering? Is this about Columbia?" Regina sneered viciously.

"How the hell would this be about _freaking_ Columbia? What even are you talking about?" Emma threw her hands up in equal amounts of frustration and confusion. Regina turned her whole upper body towards her, invading her space.

"I am well aware you have nowhere to live. Are you playing nice to coerce me into offering you a room? I thought manipulation was more my mother's forte but these days you are her new little pet, isn't that so? No wonder she taught you well," she said in a near whisper.

Emma's eyes widened at the appalling accusation slapping her in the face. She stared numbly at the older woman, balling her fists and trying to put her speeding thoughts into sentences and then she finally snapped, unable to hold back her anger.

"Firstly, _fuck you_. I didn't even know you had a room free. Secondly, did you honestly think I'd want to live with _you_?"—she noted that Regina's eyeswidened—"You hate my guts! I'm not suicidal, thank you very much. Thirdly…"—she took a deep breath—"I know I have a shitload of faults, okay? And I did a lot of screwed up things in the past but I'm done with being selfish or at least I'm trying or whatever, so just…fuck you!"

Regina blinked impassively and leant back to distance herself from Emma, who was red in the face and still heaving after her outburst. The waves kept crashing in an unperturbed rhythm, almost as a bass line to Emma's huffs and puffs and other noises of indignation.

"Are you quite finished with this impressive demonstration of your tasteful vocabulary?"

"Yes, for now," Emma said, the picture of a child coming down from the heights of a temper tantrum.

"For a future psychology major, you sure are easily rattled." Regina offered a mean smile and Emma did not rise to the bait yet again. Regina was right of course, Emma did let herself get riled up, something she promised herself she wouldn't do but she couldn't help it, not when it got personal.

"I guess you bring out the best in me." Emma closed her eyes and matched Regina's posture with her back against the rest. This was positively strange, she decided. The tone, the taunts, all felt familiar from years ago but without the insistent need to one-up Regina. _We mellowed, maybe._

"I had practice," Regina riposted easily and Emma was almost certain the other woman stared at her, if the prickly feeling of discomfort was any indication of her spidey sense and not just her overactive imagination.

"You could've gone rusty in three years," Emma said, an unforeseen smile tugging her lips upwards when she opened her eyes and met Regina's gaze.

"You are hardly the only person whose buttons I enjoy pushing, don't get cocky," Regina drawled and Emma couldn't decide whether the older woman was annoyed or intrigued by their banter.

"And here I thought I hold a special place in your heart," Emma said, "We are kind of fucked up, huh?"

It was the first time Emma heard her step-aunt laugh. It was a real, loud and tinkling laugh and she was startled by it.

"Remarkably," Regina agreed and then added in a much quieter, pensive tone, "Fine, Emma, _talk_. You came here to do that, I'm listening. Luck you, I'm much too tired to protest."

Emma let out a breath she was actually fairly aware of holding and zipped her bag open again, this time to pull out the bottle of wine she lifted amidst the confusion of Regina's early exit.

"I figured this would get uncomfortable and deep and very, very personal so…" she shrugged, "Weird question but do you have an opener?"

Regina rolled her eyes but instead of reprimanding Emma or reminding her of the dangers of underage drinking, her hand disappeared in her purse to pull out a tube of mascara. "Get creative," she said and threw it in Emma's general direction.

Emma caught it with a grin and pushed the cork into the bottle; it fell into the liquid with a pop and a splash. Regina stole the wine from her without saying a word and took a long pull from it, effectively making more than the third of it vanish, earning an equally admiring and astonished glint in Emma's eyes.

"You know, I'm sorry about Gran," she said and the low sigh of Regina resonated through the glass.

"Mother is mother, nothing new," Regina shrugged, "Your empathy is misplaced. It isn't her I'm upset about. If anything, she settled some unanswered questions tonight. For instance 'Is she still as tactful as a bulldozer?' and the answer is yes."

"Yeah, she is a piece of work," Emma agreed, "I didn't really imagine tonight going down like this."

"Why, what did you expect?" Regina asked and gave her the bottle, albeit reluctantly. Before answering, Emma took a sip of it and grimaced; she was more used to Neal's Pabs that tasted pleasantly horrible and were nowhere near strong. The red wine, however, had a surprising kick to it and she made a mental note to go easy on it. Not like she had a chance to do otherwise, seeing how Regina had taken upon herself to finish off the alcohol before her.

"More crying. Hugs. Apologies. Dad burning down the house with the grill," Emma drawled and counted off on her fingers, resting her forearms on her thighs, "A bit less awkwardness and meddling?"

"You are way too optimistic," Regina said and beckoned with her fingers for Emma to pass back the wine. "And naïve and also an idiot. That sweater makes you look frumpy too."

Emma couldn't help snickering; it was such a bizarre scenario to be out here with Regina Mills, her supposed nemesis, sitting on a bench, slowly but surely getting drunk while her step-aunt spewed off hilarious insults, clearly inebriated.

"Oh my god, are you drunk?" She tried to steal the drink back from Regina but she was relentless about her hold on it.

"No, I'm pleasantly buzzed. I've been working on it all night long," Regina slurred and zeroed in on Emma's back. "…Is that a _shrimp _on your deplorable garment?"

"Sadly, yeah," she said, "We wanted something local as our mascot and it was a toss-up between this or Granny. Turns out, Granny is more difficult to embroider."

Regina snorted at that and said, "Well, I hate it."

"Thank you," Emma replied and wondered how long she can pretend they are just two, somewhat tipsy strangers talking inanely about silly things and not two women of such complicated history that she didn't even know where their animosity took off or how she could begin to fix it. This voluntary ignorance was a nice change and so far neither woman made an attempt to sail toward deeper topics. Emma honestly preferred it this way because despite her initial bravado she didn't know how to go about that. "Oh, look, the stars are out."

"What an astute observation," Regina said, "I finally get why all these institutes are dying to have you." She extended her arm toward Emma with the bottle in her hand and added, "Take this far away from me."

Emma dutifully downed the rest of the wine and stared back up to the night sky, because anything was better than looking at Regina, who was now attentive and expectant and the only reason for that was a desire to hear Emma's big speech about familial values and love and forgiveness that she ultimately wasn't ready to make.

"UMass, UMaine, Columbia?" Regina said, directing their conversation back to her previous line of thought, "Interesting. I was under the impression that you were a hopeless train wreck. I understand congratulations are in order?"

Emma nodded at her step-aunt's blasé frankness because Regina, of course, wasn't wrong at all; she _was _a complete train wreck the last time they met, an accident to happen, a car crashing into a concrete wall in slow motion. She was only weeks or days away from inevitably ending up in juvie judging by the rate she burnt candles at both ends. In a way, her injury saved her life but she wasn't about to tell Regina that. Some of the absurdities of her life were impossible to verbalise.

"Thanks, I guess. I had some time to pull myself together," Emma shrugged and before Regina could accuse her of trying to guilt trip her she said, "Hey, can I ask you something? What's Gran's deal?"

"In general or in particular? Because I can't answer the former and the latter won't be to your liking, assuming from your little freak out earlier," Regina responded nonchalantly and added, "She wants us to get all buddy-buddy and live together in New York."

Emma promptly choked on her own saliva. She would've spouted out various obscenities if she weren't too busy trying to cease her coughing fit.

"Okay, can I say…" she started, wheezing, "What the actual fuck?! I figured she wanted you to help me find a flat or, or, I don't know, _bribe _the school board, I mean that's something she would do but…this? Is she lobbying for the Nobel Peace Prize or what?" she let out a disbelieving, nervous chuckle, "'Cause if she can pull that off she might even get it. Because, _come on_, you hate me—"

"That is the second time tonight you said that. I'd like to remind you that we've been talking for a while and we are yet to have a murder suicide on our hands," Regina interjected calmly, "Maybe we need a clean slate, hm?"

Those few simple words slapped Emma in the face with a realisation of her own miscalculations. She trotted right up into this on a high horse, planting herself in the role of the saviour and the 'better person', maybe the victim too, thinking that she had long let go of whatever residual grudge she used to hold for the other woman. Amidst her great plans it was easy to forget she had no real idea of the person Regina had become. Putting preconceptions aside, for all she knew, they really were two strangers.

"What do you propose?" Emma croaked out, feeling little, like she had just shrunk in size or in age.

"Mother wasn't too far off with her idea about the campus visit. It made me think," Regina mused, "Spend a weekend at mine. We can talk then. I'm not sure I'd like to have this heart-to-heart on a bench, freezing and intoxicated. This wasn't one of your better ideas."

"It served its purpose," Emma said, "This weekend thing? What's in it for you? No offence, but you don't look like a person to do a volte-face just like that."

"I see someone picked up some big words on their way to SAT," Regina smirked and said, "I'll be straight with you. I want my relationship with my sister back, the way it used to be before you waltzed in. I'm counting on your help with that. In return, I can offer you a room that looks over Morningside Park"—Emma's eyes bulged out—"The deal breaker is the proposed weekend. If I'm not comfortable with you around or we can't come to an understanding…the deal is off and you can do whatever you want with your life and I'll do the same."

"I'm sorry…did I get the message here?" Emma scratched her scalp, "Are you seriously _bribing_ me? And with that?"

"I'm cutting you a deal," Regina said, her eyes twinkling and at that moment Emma thought she couldn't deny any genetic connection with Cora if she tried. "A fair one at that. What do you think?"

Emma contemplated her options: on one hand, Regina had to be very, very damaged to come up with an idea like that and Emma's lack of experience in that regard could be their eventual downfall; on the other hand, Emma could finally have a chance to understand her and maybe pull this family together before her grandfather succumbs to dementia and her mother to a nervous breakdown.

"I think you are out of your mind," Emma admitted, "I'm game."

Regina extended her hand and Emma shook it, the feeling plaguing her that she probably made the worst decision of her life.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:**Hello! Thank you very much for all your nice reviews and PMs, I find them very motivational. I'm really glad that so many of you like this story. I hope you'll find this instalment to your liking as well :) - Sara

**Disclaimer:**I don't own OUAT or its characters and I make no profit whatsoever from writing this

* * *

It took Regina a couple of seconds to register the stiffness of the mattress against her back, a ray of morning light sifting through the blinders warming her skin and the numerous photographs plastered on the wall by her head. She blinked to will away the sleepiness burning her eyelids and focused on the pictures that depicted Emma Swan in various scenarios.

There was one of a very young Emma—seven or eight years of age, Regina supposed—holding up a fish that barely fit in her hands, looking exceptionally proud, her father grinning in the background. Regina moved her gaze to the next one and a low sigh escaped her lungs. In the picture, an older Emma was leaning on a pair of crutches and winking at the person taking the picture. The last one she inspected before the urge to turn away came over her was of Emma giving her laughing mother a piggy back ride. The date at the corner told Regina that it was taken last summer.

With something way too similar to an ache in her chest she reached for her phone.

* * *

"No. Way. No _fucking _way! You are kidding me," Kathryn shrieked into the phone, her voice turning higher and louder by every word and Regina's patience was growing thinner at the same time. "Emma? You mean Emma Swan? Creepy Emma?"

"No, I meant Emma Watson. We really hit it off that one time when she wore our dress to the red carpet. She is my new best friend. I'm sorry, Kat, but you are surplus," Regina drawled and made a futile attempt to smooth down her horrendous bed hair she sported after spending the night in Emma's kid sized bed. How the other woman managed to fit inside it was a mystery to her; she theorised that Emma was secretly a cephalopod. A discovery of that degree wouldn't even make their family weirder than it already was.

"Reg, it is 7 AM on a Sunday. Normal people sleep or—not that you would know about it—have sex at this time," Kathryn uttered in a flat tone, "Instead, I'm trying to simultaneously wake up and be supportive of your complete disrespect of my beauty sleep and it is just so, _so _difficult when I also have to weather your snark."

"My sincerest apologies. I'm sure you needed that beauty sleep," Regina said and added upon hearing Kathryn's low growl," Sorry, I'll reign in the attitude for now." She stretched and her joints popped loudly; it was a habit that normally irritated her roommate beyond reason. Regina yawned and said after a beat, "So, yes, I invited Emma over. It was a bit of an impulsive decision slightly influenced by alcohol."

"Oh, no," Kathryn sighed, "The last time you made one of those people cried, we had a lawsuit on our hands and your PA needed to use a fire extinguisher."

"I'm painfully aware. I was _there_," Regina hissed and ran her hand through her hair, finally giving up on making herself presentable, "But I can't exactly take it back now. Not after I slept in her bed and we are about to have breakfast together."

"Oookay. Everything sounds very wrong about that sentence but I'm going to let it slide for now," Kathryn said, "Seriously, though, this is not like you, Reg. Are you sure you aren't being blackmailed? Because Fred knows people who can fix that for you…"

"Thank you, Kathryn, but we are talking about a teenager here, not the Storybrooke mafia so keep your dramatics at bay," she told her. "It was all me, Kat, believe me. I called you to give you the heads-up and also because I'll need you later today in your best friend capacity."

"I'm on it, Reg. I'll stock up on _Häagen__-__Dazs_ and penguin documentaries for tonight," Kathryn said brightly, the remnants of sleep-induced grogginess leaving her voice. "But only if you promise me you'll talk to Miss Shrink von Hotstuff too. Promise me," Kathryn pleaded with her.

"Will you ever stop calling Tina these ridiculous pet names?" Regina groaned out and fell back onto the bed, letting the familiar, easy conversation take her mind off yesterday.

"No," Kathryn said, "Now tell me however the heck you managed to wake up in Emma's bed…"

* * *

"I'm game."

Emma's words rung in the air with irrevocability and Regina stared down at their hands joined in a handshake, needing to swallow back a lump of disquiet clogging her throat. Emma's hand fit hers in unexpected, complementary ways. It was strong and bony unlike Regina's more delicate one and she noticed small but prominent calluses sitting at the first knuckles of her fingers. What caught Regina off-guard was the warmth emanating from the other woman's palm; she burnt with the fervour of a dozen suns and Regina had to pull away, afraid of being scalded.

Things weren't going as planned. Instead of spending an excessively awkward dinner with her relatives and making up with Mary Margaret and David, bonding again over shared memories, she ran out on her family, got tipsy with Emma of all people and went on to clutch the girl in her claws with a proposal impossible to turn down. It wasn't like manipulation was alien to her; she did it every day at work in a more subtle, productive way that human resource specialists would call 'personal motivation'. This, however, wasn't subtle at all and it didn't leave her with satisfaction and a dose of smugness. It only made her feel dirty and corrupt and a helping of guilty too. _Tink will be very disappointed._

All that because Emma Swan made her lose control yet again by being considerate, pleasant and so idiotically _charming_, something that made Regina's skin crawl. It was especially bad tonight when, only for a second, she almost forgot whom she was talking to and maybe, just maybe she enjoyed being civil for half an hour with someone who wasn't Kathryn or Tink.

"You look, um, cold. You can have my hoodie if you want," Emma told her, shaking her out of her inner commentary.

"As if I'd want that travesty anywhere near me," she huffed out defensively, "Let's head back. It's late."

"All right." Emma stood up and extended a hand toward her after a pause that Regina written down to uncertainty. She didn't take the hand because their previous contact left her with an uncomfortable amount of thoughts running through her brain. She couldn't miss a shadow pass through Emma's face that looked dangerously close to disappointment as she dropped her arm. "So, uhm, anyway…Who do you think won the throw down between Mum and Gran? My vote is on Mum, she can be legitimately scary."

Those unassuming, artless shots at amicability sent dread course through Regina. Wherever Emma was about to venture was an unknown territory to her and she did not like that.

"Emma, I want to make myself clear so you don't get the wrong idea. All this," she gestured between the two of them, "Whatever it was doesn't make us friends, only business partners. We have a mutually beneficial agreement and that's all," she reminded the girl and—she noted with a pang of distaste—herself as well.

Emma nodded curtly, her smile vanishing quickly, giving space for a more neutral expression as she replied, "Got it. I'll keep it _professional._"

"I appreciate that," Regina said and started trotting the pavement, putting distance between her and the sea.

* * *

The walk back was a far cry from their time at the beach as it was filled in its entirety with the longest, most painful bout of silence Regina had ever had to endure. Emma seemed dead set on meeting Regina's rules on the nature of their relationship seeing as she kept mute aside from the occasional humming. Regina caught herself rolling her eyes several times in annoyance; she had no time to indulge Emma's sulk, especially when the girl had no reason to be offended. It was a perfectly fair arrangement between two people who were never friends to begin with and Regina felt no need whatsoever to be cordial rather than just civil. She was never big on friendships (she was better at making enemies to be frank) so it wasn't like her niece was missing out on much.

They entered the backyard to find it alit by the porch lights that Mary Margaret must have left on for them. Emma's mother sat on the steps leading up to the backdoor, wrapped in an oversized sweater that probably belonged to David.

She snapped up her head upon hearing their footsteps and said, "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, all dandy. I'm tired so I'll leave you two," Emma said tersely, "Good night."

Regina closed her eyes and shook her head briefly, unwilling to ponder why it bothered her to see the younger woman so standoffish.

"May I sit?" she asked Mary Margaret, who in turn patted the steps beside her. Regina sat down promptly and let out a shaky breath.

"MM, I…thank you for having me today," she said, her voice hoarse as though she forgot how to use it. There was so much to say but she had lost her ability to speak somewhere between the bench on the beach and the backyard.

"I'm happy you came," Mary Margaret told her. "Cora and Dad left some time ago. I told them you are staying with us, I hope you don't mind. Of course, I'll give you a ride if you do."

Regina shook her head and said, "No. Thank you. Really just…thank you."

Mary Margaret nodded at her with a reassuring smile and reached out for her hand. Regina let her sister draw small circles on her palm, something that always put her at ease when she was a child.

"How have you been, Reggie?" the older woman asked and Regina sighed tiredly. It was obvious what Mary Margaret was trying to achieve. It was their thing to always bounce back, no matter how long they hadn't seen the other, and snap back into being sisters and confidants, who understood each other's unfinished sentences and unsaid words. _I hope it will work, MM. I hope we still work._

"Up and down, mostly," Regina snorted without mirth, "Both out of my mind and trapped deep inside it, you know?" _How on Earth could she know, you invalid freak? She isn't a mental case like you. _She scrunched up her face in embarrassment and said, "Please disregard that. I have been drinking and I'm temporarily unable to make sense."

Mary Margaret looked away for a moment and Regina was just in time to see sadness roll over her sister's features, tightening the creases around her mouth and eventually manifesting in a frown.

"Fine, honesty time," she relented, "I made use of my voluntary exile, MM. Not even for a single moment was this about the beneficial effects of a change of scenery," she said, answering Mary Margaret's untold questions. "I sought help. I have had a therapist for three years now and she is really, _really _great and you know I'm not someone who dishes out compliments on a regular basis. Or at all," she added as an afterthought with a smile starting at the corners of her lips upon thinking of Tink. "And I'm doing what I love, what I'm _passionate_ about and I think I'm at a good place; I just need to wrap my head around it because…my mind is not well yet."

"It will be," Mary Margaret said firmly but not unkindly, "But don't expect it to be overnight, Regina, because past transgressions are never easy to fix. So take your time and we'll be here for you."

Regina nodded sombrely, acknowledging that Mary Margaret was still the perfect combination of fairness and strictness.

"It's getting late, we should get some shuteye," Mary Margaret said and they moved inside, happening upon a quietly snoring Emma sprawled across the couch in a heap of limbs and shrimp hoodies.

"She usually manages to find her room," the older woman noted with a secretive smile and added, "Would you rather sleep in Emma's bed or bunk with David?"

* * *

_"Cora, you can't!" Mary Margaret raised her voice and balled her fists in anger._

_"Of course I can, Mary. Need I remind you that I'm her mother and not you?" Cora said in an offhanded manner that only served to infuriate Mary Margaret more. _

_"Don't even try to derail this," Mary Margaret spat back, "You know I have a right to question you on this."_

_"Not at all. Please elaborate on why I should explain myself because I'm admittedly a bit confused. I only want what's best for Regina and right now that's Emma Willard," Cora said and Mary Margaret pursed her lips in irritation, fighting back the urge to call her step-mother unsavoury names._

_"You are wrong," she said, "Sending her off to a boarding school is pretty much the worst thing that you can do to her. I'm serious, Cora, trust me."_

_"I know that you hold Regina's interest in high regard, Mary, and I'm very glad you do but maybe you aren't the authority on this. Regina is being unusually difficult and her therapist suggested a change of scenery," Cora said in response._

_"Oh, all right then, I'm sure a move to another state is what she meant by that," Mary Margaret remarked snidely._

_"Well, it did wonders to Kathryn Midas. Her mother told me that she became a lot more disciplined."_

_"Detached. You are looking for the word 'detached' because that's what Kathryn Midas is," she scoffe. "Listen, Cora, I _work_ with children. I get them," she said, the implication that she thought very little of Cora's qualities as a mother hung in the air. "Regina is troubled because she thinks she lost her role in our family. She will get better with time but if you send her off now, you basically tell her she is right."_

_"Regina is not troubled, Mary. She is spoilt and selfish and that needs to be fixed or else she won't ever amount to anything. It is not my fault that you have indulged all her whims and now she can't handle that she isn't the centre of attention," Cora snarled, losing her composure._

_"Of course it's not your fault! You can only make mistakes at parenting if you at least make an attempt at it!"_

_Mary Margaret almost expected the slap but she still recoiled from the force of it._

* * *

The day of her departure to New York arrived sooner than Emma had expected. Her week ran by in a daze of swimming trainings and late nights spent sitting on her porch with Neal, cracking jokes and getting lost in his stories about his girlfriend. It was all a sorry attempt to fight off the approaching sense of foreboding that grew stronger by every day.

She only talked to Regina briefly over the phone when her step-aunt asked which flight she was going to take and told her she would be picking her up at the airport. Regina was succinct and formal and Emma could only stare dejectedly at her phone when she heard the little beeping sound at the end of the call. She wasn't great at handling rejection of any form; it always put a significant damper or her mood and made her turn to passive aggressiveness and that never did her any good.

After last period on Friday, Emma wrote a quick note to her parents as promised and then threw her overnight bag onto the backseat of her bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle she had restored with David the previous summer as an exercise in father-daughter bonding. The drive to Portland was a dull one but it served one purpose at least: it took away the edge of her nerves.

Soon after her short flight Emma learnt the real definition of dullness in the terminal of the John F. Kennedy International Airport, which was abuzz with the sound of hurried footsteps and chatter in a million languages. There was a time and space when even Candy Crush Saga started to become insufferably boring and this was it. It finally came and Emma wanted to cry out of sheer frustration. Waiting almost forty minutes for Regina to show up and calling her three times only to be greeted by the voicemail was a disheartening affair. Her screen lit up suddenly, shaking her out of her reverie and a text appeared: _Stuck in a meeting. Sent my PA to get you, he should arrive any minute. R._

_Well, shit. Don't worry, Regina, I humbly accept your heartfelt apologies, _Emma thought and went back to her game in a completely enervated manner.

"Emma Swan?" she heard a heavily accented voice call out to her mere minutes later and she looked up to see a man in his late twenties sporting a scruffy beard.

"Yeah," Emma nodded at him, stood up and slipped her phone into her pocket.

"Good, you are the fourth blonde teenager I asked. I'm Graham Humbert, Regina's assistant. I came to drive you to Venetia-deGrasse."

"Hi." Emma shook his hand firmly and lifted her bag from the ground to throw it over a shoulder. "Thanks for the lift. Hope it wasn't an inconvenience."

"You kidding? I'm glad I got to get away a bit," Graham said and they walked out to the parking lot. "Regina has been in meetings non-stop since 8 o'clock and that means that I have been on the phone since then."

They finally reached a silver Volvo sedan and Graham opened the door for Emma.

"Thanks," Emma said, a bit uncomfortable by the gesture. "I like your car."

"Not mine," Graham told her, "Company owned. I'm a lowly personal assistant; I'm all about the subway."

"So, how long have you been a lowly personal assistant?" Emma asked as they rolled onto the highway leading to Manhattan.

"Almost a year. I joined not long after Regina," he replied and changed gears.

"Yeah, what's that like? Working for Regina?" Emma asked.

"Is she expecting a report from you?" Graham quipped in response and adjusted the rear-view mirror. Emma wasn't sure if he was joking or completely serious; she hadn't had enough time to read him just yet.

"I'm not snitching on you, just wondering," she reassured him. "We aren't very chatty about work things." _Or anything, _she thought.

"I was kidding. The job is tough and she is a demanding boss," Graham said, "But a fair one. Aren't many of those around so I can't really complain, actually. You know," he added as an afterthought, "I had no idea she had a niece. She isn't big on getting personal. For all I know, she could have two husbands and five kids."

"I think she has none of either but I'm not a hundred per cent sure," Emma said, not in the least bit surprised that Regina did not advertise her family.

"Well, I'm glad anyway. It is good to know she is human too."

"Let me guess. She is the local head bitch in charge?" Emma chuckled.

"I'll let you form your own opinion on that," Graham said and shook his head, mustering up an innocent face. "So, have you been to Times Square? Because we are heading to 45th Street."

* * *

The Venetia-deGrasse building was more impressive than anything Emma had ever seen in her nineteen years of existence which probably would've meant a lot more if she hadn't spent it all in a coastal town in Maine. Due to her lack of exposure, dynamic metal arcs and black glass windows gave a new definition in her mind to the word 'intimidating'. If she was to be honest with herself, it all really fit Regina, as in larger-than-life, confident Regina, who had brightened up at the chance to talk about her work at the dinner table.

They entered the spacious and quite crowded main hall and she expected to take one of the three elevators that faced the reception desk. Graham, however, led her to a long, narrow hallway instead that hid a smaller lift at the end. He opened it with his ID card and once they were inside he pushed the button for the 7th floor.

"Regina does back-office work," he explained seeing Emma's bewildered expression. "That's in the wings, not the main building."

Emma replied with a humming noise that was supposed to sound intelligent. Figuring she wanted to be at least semi-presentable she quickly took off her beanie and proceeded to smooth down her locks and fix her crumpled clothing using the mirrored back of the elevator.

The doors finally opened and Emma heard a vaguely familiar voice say, "Hello, Graham. While you were out on your errand everything fell to chaos and now I'm awaiting the apocalypse. If I were you I'd ask for a raise. When horrible things happen in your absence you are probably irreplaceable."

"No one is," Graham said. "Kathryn, let me introduce—"

"Hoooly shit! You got hhh…high. Tall!" Kathryn shrieked as her eyes met with Emma's, who winced in turn, unaccustomed to the other woman's shrill notes.

"You are taller than me," Emma pointed out and balled her beanie awkwardly in her right hand.

"You two know each other?" Graham asked as he went through the files and portfolios stacked high up on his desk. Emma quickly looked around the room that had light coloured walls and a minimalistic design that someone took way too seriously because the only furniture were two tables strategically placed next to two closed doors that led to Kathryn's and Regina's offices.

"I was her babysitter back when I was a springly maiden, which I suppose I still am if we stay in the comfortable dream world of self-delusion," Kathryn said in a casual blur of words and walked up to Emma.

"You babysat me, like, two times," Emma mumbled, her face reddening. _Thanks, Kathryn, why don't you also tell Graham embarrassing anecdotes of my childhood._

"Right. Then I forgot you at the mall and your mother fired me. Ah, good times," Kathryn sighed out and gave Emma an air kiss to each cheek. Well, general direction of a cheek, really. "Sorry, I don't know your personal space preferences. Better safe than sorry," the woman whispered apologetically and Emma decided she liked this older version of Kathryn Midas, despite her slightly off-putting intensity.

Suddenly the door with the plate reading 'Regina Mills, brand manager' was thrown open in such a violent fashion that Emma feared it would fly off its hinges.

* * *

Regina marched out of her office in fury and glanced at the people standing around in the waiting area.

_Why am I the only person working in this building?_

She focused on Emma, running her gaze up and down her figure, noting the welcome absence of the hoodie. It had been replaced by a black leather jacket and a tank top and while it still wasn't something Regina would have picked, it was definitely an upgrade.

"Why is this such an unfathomable concept to you? You have been in this field for how long exactly? Five years? Thirteen?!" Regina snarled into her cell phone. "Well then act like the professional you are! I had it with your self-indulgent rampages. I shouldn't even have to deal with this because it is not my job to beat some sense into you but apparently our HR responsible is unable to keep you in check. Which reminds me that we might have to say our farewells to our beloved Miss Ghorm…Good. You do that," she said and ended the call. "Creative people…"

"Lo and behold, the elusive Regina finally emerges from her cave after 9 hours of hibernation to announce the arrival of summer," Kathryn said and Regina rolled her eyes.

"I'm not a groundhog," she snapped and then turned away to address the teen instead, "Emma, did you fly well?"

"Yeah, but actually the plane did most of the work so I don't think I should take all the credit," Emma said with a tentative smile.

"Oh, look, Reg, people can say funny things without being sarcastic. You should take notes," Kathryn said with a wink and then mouthed 'she is cute' to Regina.

Regina blinked repeatedly, trying and failing to comprehend her friend and then she whispered back a 'what'. Kathryn chuckled out and threw back an 'and gay' at an unsuspecting Regina.

"What?!" Regina blurted out and met the confused looks of Graham and Emma.

"Oh, we were just discussing the latest crop top trends," Kathryn told them seriously. "Work relationships are amazing when you are functioning on a telepathic level."

_This will be the longest weekend in the history of weekends._


End file.
